


The Prisoner and The Dagger

by TeaGirrl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Demonic Possession, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Love, Magic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:17:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaGirrl/pseuds/TeaGirrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sold by her father to settle a debt, Belle is forced to leave her freedom behind and live with Rumpelstiltsken in his estate as his maid/slave. What will become of Master and slave? And will Belle have the courage to save him from darkness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Departure

In an enchanted land, far away, there was a village. It was one of many villages, and it was the village which lay closest to the Dark Castle. Through the streets of this village walked a man; a man tainted by darkness. This man had a purpose, a business arrangement he intended on finishing. He was calling upon a favor someone owed him. A desperate someone, whose plea for a loan he had simply not been able to refuse. That someone was now in his debt. It was a debt which could only be repaid by one; the girl.

* * *

She stood in the backyard of their small cottage feeding the chickens. The wind gently tousled her auburn hair and ruffled her blue dress as she gazed off into the horizon. The sun was soon setting just beyond the hills and cast a golden glow upon the world.

The whole world seemed to stretch out before her, offering her adventure and a life she could call her own. Although she was content living here with her father and helping him with his inventions, she wanted to explore the world. She wanted thrill and excitement. She wanted love. These were dreams and wishes she didn't feel she could fulfill while stuck in this small village.

The chickens clucked with impatience, as she had gotten lost in her thoughts and stopped throwing corn on the ground. She snapped out of her daydream, dumped the rest of the corn in a big heap on the ground, and made her way to the stable where her noble steed, Philippe, was resting.

Philippe neighed with delight as he saw her approach, stretching his head forward to nuzzle her hand.

She smiled at his eagerness. "Did you miss me?" She asked, stroking his muscular neck.

Her father had gotten her Philippe for her thirteenth birthday. Partially because she longed for a pet of her own, and partially so he could cart her father's inventions around to the various fairs he entered. She remembered how her father had led her into the stable, covering her eyes the whole time while guiding her slowly, her arms outstretched in front of her and her body practically tingling with excitement.

Her mouth had fallen open in astonishment at the sight of her very own horse standing before her, looking curiously at her. She had leapt into her father's arms, thanking him with all her heart.

Philippe was a gentle horse and it didn't take long before she was allowed take him out for rides by herself through the woods or down to the market.

Nowadays he was not used as often, as he was getting old, but Belle still came to check on him daily. He was, after all, one of her best friends.

As she was filling his trough with fresh water, she heard footsteps on the gravel out front.

"Who on earth could that be?" she mused aloud, as she peeked around the stable door. She could see a man knocking on their front door. She couldn't see his face, but he had wavy dark hair that grazed his shoulders, and wore leather trousers, a silk shirt and waistcoat. Her father answered the door and ushered the stranger in hastily, peering around nervously before slamming the door shut.

Curiosity got the better of her, as she made her way through the courtyard, treading carefully so as not to draw any attention to herself. She entered through the backdoor and heard her father's muffled voice coming from the kitchen. The door to the kitchen was shut, so she braced herself against it, pressing her ear to the wooden door, hoping to catch snippets of their conversation.

"You can't be serious?" she heard her father say. He sounded frightened.

"Oh, but I am," the stranger said. His voice was slightly high pitched and completely at ease. "You see, since you are unable to pay back your debt, I have to come up with an alternative. I am simply naming my price."

"But she is all I have!" her father begged. "I'll give you anything else, just not her." His voice cracked. He sounded like he was close to tears.

_What on earth is going on?_

"Maurice, I am sure you are well aware of what happens to those who refuse to pay back their debt to me." Despite her father sounding distraught, this stranger sounded almost cheerful.

_What a heartless creature…_

The stranger continued. "Your daughter will be comfortable with me. You have nothing to worry about."

_What?_

Panic coursed through her veins as reality started to dawn on her. To hell with privacy! She threw open the door and the scene before her made her heart ache.

Her father had his head in his hands, his back was shaking from sobbing and he looked up in horror as she entered the room. The stranger sat across from him, his legs crossed, his elbows resting on the table in front of him, his hands fanned out and his fingertips pressed together. He grinned up at her. His skin was tinged with a dark gold, his eyes almost as black as night. His nose was slightly crooked and his grin was disturbing to say the least. He frightened her.

"Ah, here she is now," the stranger announced, rising from his seat and taking a few steps toward her. Belle stepped back by instinct, wanting to keep her distance from him. He stopped and didn't look offended, his grin still firmly planted on his face.

Her father had now risen from his seat, his eyes wide with desperation and despair.

"Belle, I am so sorr-"

"What the hell is going on here?" she demanded, cutting off his apology. Her father opened his mouth to explain, but the stranger beat him to it.

"What's going on here, dearie, is that you now belong to me." He ended in a manic giggle which chilled her very bones.

"What are you talking about?" She asked, the scene unfolding before her seeming unreal and merely an unclear image, like trying to peer through murky water, trying to make sense of it. This couldn't be happening. No way her own father would sell her to this… this… monster.

"Your father owes me a great deal of money. Since he has failed to produce said money, this is the only way he can repay his debt," the stranger stated matter-of-factly.

Belle could only stare at her father is disbelief. "Is this true, papa?"

"I never agreed to this, Belle! You have to believe me!" He looked like a child, trying their hardest to prove to their cynical parents that they were innocent, innocent and oblivious.

She rushed to his side, hugging him in an attempt to comfort him. "Don't worry, papa. I am not leaving with him." She reassured him as she felt his hot tears stain her dress.

"Oh, but you are," she heard from behind her. They both looked up from their embrace to the man who was destroying their lives. "You see, the deal has already been struck." He clicked his tongue as he uttered the last syllable. "And since we, dearie, are going to be spending some time together, I think proper introductions are in order."

He stepped forward and graciously bowed, stretching out his hand, as if he was asking her to dance. "Rumpelstiltsken am I, and you are?"

His name sounded so familiar. Her eyes widened in horror as she remebered. "Rumplestiltsken. That is who you made a deal with?" She looked at her father in disbelief. "Rumplestiltsken, the most powerful wizard of our land?  _That_ who you chose to borrow money from?" She sensed that he tried to find the words to justify his actions, but came up short and looked at the ground in defeat.

"I am not going with you," she said confidently, crossing her arms over chest, her feet planted firmly on the ground, refusing to budge.

"Oh, I think you will, dearie. For you see…" He stepped closer until he was only inches from her face. She could feel his hot breath on her face, and she tried her best not to pull away, refusing to show any signs of weakness. "Either you go with me, or your precious father dies."

She gasped at the threat, terror hitting her as the look in his eyes confirmed that he was absolutely serious. If she didn't leave with him, her father would… die.

Tears filled her eyes as she realized that she had no other choice, that she never had any choice in the first place. She was doomed to spend the rest of her life with this heartless beast. All her dreams and hopes for the future that only a while ago had seemed almost real and within her reach, were slipping through her fingers, like grains of sand. There was no use in fighting. There was no use in denying.

"Let me get my things," she said, her voice barely audible. Rumplestiltsken just smiled, satisfied that she had given up without a fight.

She sauntered up the stairs to her room, quickly wiping away the tears that trickled steadily down her cheeks. She refused to be weak, not in front of him. She gathered her cloak and a small stack of her favourite books, placing them in a basket. She looked over her room for the last time, remembering the view of the hills from her window, how the sun shone through her lace curtains in the morning, the oak tree that stood tall and proud just outside her windowsill.

She drew a jagged breath as she closed her bedroom door for the last time and made her way down the stairs. She emerged to see Rumpelstiltsken standing by the front door, waiting for her. Her father had to lean against the wall so as not to crumple to the ground in sorrow. His cheeks were glistening, his tears forever flowing. Belle could not remember seeing her father cry once since her mother had died.

The sight broke her heart and undid whatever little composure she had tried to muster. Her own tears now flowed freely and she embraced her father one last time, memorizing the smell of him, the feel of his beard against her skin, the way his eyes lit up when one of his inventions was successful.

She heard Rumpelstiltsken clear his throat from the doorway, wanting their tender moment to pass.

Sensing his impatience, she pulled out of their embrace and grabbed her father's calloused hands.

"I love you, my beautiful Belle. Please forgive me…" He tried desperately to control his sobbing, but couldn't stop the small sounds of anguish slip from his lips.

She moved to cup his cheek. "Of course I forgive you, papa. And I love you more than anything." She kissed his cheek before releasing his hand. His hand still hung in the air, her warmth still lingering on his skin.

Belle walked out of her house for the last time, not sparing Rumpelstiltsken a second glance as she walked past him and over the threshold. Rumpelstiltsken was about to leave, but was held back as the old man caught his sleeve.

"Please. There must be another way." Rumpelstiltsken glanced down at the man from whom he was stealing the only precious thing he had.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you," he said with such finality, that it brought the old heartbroken man to his knees. Rumplestiltsken tugged his shirt from the man's grasp before leaving the small cottage to join the beautiful woman who waited for him in the courtyard.

Rumplestiltsken took Belle firmly by the arm, pulling her with him as he took her away from the only home she'd ever known. She glanced back one more time and immediately wished she hadn't. For the sight of her broken father on his knees, clutching the open door for support while he wept uncontrollably was enough to shatter her heart to a point beyond repair.

* * *

He led her through the streets of her village, walking with brisk steps, never letting go of her arm. She had tried to yank her arm from his grasp, but had only succeeded in him gripping her even tighter.

The eyes of the other residents in the village watched them as they made their way out of the village. They all knew who this man was. Rumours and haunting stories were often uttered in the bars late at night, and housewives would warn their children not to venture out into the woods alone, for fear that Rumpelstiltsken would whisk their children away. Him parading her through the streets didn't do anything to help the matter.

"Why are you doing this? Have you no compassion?" Belle hissed, her irritation growing with every passing moment.

He didn't even look at her."I lost my compassion a long time ago, dearie."

To this she didn't say anything, she just stared straight ahead, not wanting to seem scared or defeated.

"Why are we even walking?" she asked in a hushed tone. "Aren't you a wizard? Can't you just transport us to your place?"

"I am illustrating what happens when people cannot fulfill their end of a bargain." He met the eyes of several townsfolk, who quickly averted their gaze. These people feared him, and if she were being honest, so did she.

They soon reached the outskirts of the village and Rumpelstiltsken stopped in his tracks. Still holding onto Belle's arm, he snapped his fingers and they appeared inside a great reception hall. The walls were of cold stone and the hall was dimly lit. She could barely make out the winding staircase that descended to the right of the hall.

"You need not worry, dearie. I think you will be happy here in my estate." He steered her towards the staircase. She tripped several times due to the dim light, but he didn't slow his pace nor wait for her to compose herself.

The air grew colder and the dampness in the air was almost tangible. She soon realized they were underground. Goosebumps formed on her skin as he led her further away from the light from the reception hall. Soon he stopped and flicked his wrist. Several torches lining the walls of the stone room burst into flame, illuminating the dreary room to the point where she could clearly make out what misery this room would bring her.

It was a dungeon. There were several cells, all guarded by a steel door with a small, barred window. He quickly strode over to the nearest one, dragging her with him.

"I'm not going in there!" she yelled, trying to pry his hand from her arm, but it was like trying to loosen an iron grip.

"Oh, don't worry, dearie," he said in his slick voice. He released her arm, only to shove her into the dungeon. She was caught by surprise at the force and skinned her knees as she tripped and fell to the ground. "It is actually quite comfy."

She rose quickly to her feet, rushing towards him, getting ready to slam into him and perhaps even escape. But he was too quick. He slammed the door in her face and turned on his heel to leave, his high-pitched giggle echoing in the room despite his absence.

She banged on the door, screaming for him to let her out, but it was no use. She leaned against the door, panic settling in her stomach, threatening to flare up at any time. The cell was quite small. It was made entirely of cold, hard stone. There was a stone ledge in the corner, which she presumed was her bed. There were two small windows to her left, letting in some light.

She dragged her emotionally drained body to the "bed" and lay down, her cloak draped around her to keep out some of the bone-chilling cold. The sun had set completely and only the moonlight shone through the barred windows overhead.

Reality washed over her and brought on a fresh tears. She was locked in a dungeon. By man to whom she belonged to. A monster. With whom she was to spend the rest of her life.

The panic flared and mutated into a combination of fear, sorrow and hopelessness. It was a combination that made her body shake as she cried and left her last traces of freedom behind.


	2. Soapy Burns

He sat by his spinning wheel, slowly rotating the wheel absentmindedly, his thoughts far from the task at hand. His thoughts were about the fair maiden who was in a dungeon not too many feet beneath him.

He had tried to forget her existence for a brief moment, but his mind couldn't help but wonder. Her beautiful face stained with sorrow and fear danced around in his mind, driving him mad.

He wondered how much time had passed since he had left her. He glanced out the window at the night sky, the moon now full and casting beams of eerie light across the floorboards. Judging by its position, it must have been at least a couple of hours.

Apart from the moonlight, the only other light came from the fireplace he had lit, warming his dark gold skin. Warmth…  _She must be awfully cold in that dungeon…_ He shook his head, willing the thoughts of concern for her to disappear. Why should he even care about her? He owned her now and could treat her exactly as he saw fit.

His feet tingled with restlessness, as he was on the verge of going down there and checking up on her. Wanting to stay put and not show any weakness, he began pacing, his leather trousers creaking with every stubborn step.

He would  _not_ check on her. He would not even go near the dungeons until morning, after she had had the night to… get accustomed to her surroundings. Wanting to make sure that he didn't give in, he retired to his tower, hoping that sleep would be the best remedy for a nagging conscience.

Despite him having lain in bed for several hours, sleep did not make its appearance. He tossed and turned, images of her behind his closed eyelids preventing him from getting any rest.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the sun make its appearance just over the horizon. Finally! He was curious as to how she would behave on her first day. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he also wanted to get to know her. Also the concept of having a slave of his own made him giggle with excitement.

He waited a few more minutes until his tower was illuminated by the fresh morning light before making his way down to the dungeons.

He peeked through the small barred window in the door. He could make out her shape lying on the cold, elevated stone bench that she had obviously used as a bed.

He unlocked the door slowly, not wanting to wake her just yet. He swung open the door and walked with quiet steps inside. He neared her sleeping figure carefully. She had her cloak draped around her and her feet were curled up to her chest. Her brows were furrowed, as if she was in deep concentration, or perhaps she was having a bad dream. Even in her state of sleep he could see she was shivering, her skin pale and her lips tinted with an icy blue.

_So she had been cold…_

Not that that came as much of a surprise. The walls were made of pure stone and even though thin rays of sunlight streamed in through the small barred windows overhead, they didn't offer any heat.

Her auburn curls framed her face and tumbled to the side off the stone bench. He felt an itch to reach out and brush them back in place, but restrained himself.

He moved to stand in the center of the cell and clapped his hands together loudly.

"Rise and shine, dearie!"

She woke abruptly, banging the back of her head off the stone wall behind her. She groaned and frowned at his grinning figure.

"Was that really necessary?" she asked, sounding annoyed as she sat up carefully. She winced as she moved and began massaging her stiff neck.

"Wouldn't want you to sleep the day away!" he replied cheerfully. "I trust you slept alright?" He didn't ask out of curiosity, he just simply enjoyed mocking her.

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him, not even bothering to answer.

"Come upstairs. We have business to discuss." He turned elegantly on his heel as he made his way out of her cell and up the stairs, leaving her cell door open for her to follow.

* * *

The back of her head still throbbed as she made her way slowly up the stairs. His mocking voice seemed to resonate within the stone walls. " _Trust you slept alright?"_ As if! She had lay there, the damp cold slowly eating away at her, her eyes red and puffy from crying. Sleep hadn't overcome her until well into the night, the sound of the draft coming from the small barred window of her cell door slowly lulling her to sleep.

Her feet were numb from the cold and her neck ached with every step as she made her way into the reception hall. It seemed less gloomy than last night, the daylight giving the space an almost peaceful feel, like when you step into an empty church.

And there, not too many feet away, was the entrance door; her way out. She didn't hesitate. She tip-toed carefully, glancing behind her to see if he was anywhere to be found. Seeing as he was not here, she slowly reached out to touch the handle. It didn't seem locked. There were no wooden bars or metal bolts. It was simply an unguarded door.

She grabbed the handle, getting ready to yank it open and sprint out the door, but pulled back with a gasp as soon as her skin touched the cold metal. It felt like she had touched iron on the verge of melting. The pain pierced her skin and seemed to spread up her arm. Her skin felt like it was on fire, and her eyes widened in horror as she saw a clear imprint of the handle in her palm, scorching red, several layers of her skin seared away, and covered in blisters around the edge.

"You didn't think I would leave it unprotected, did you?" She heard from behind her.

She spun around to see him leaning against a doorframe that seemed to lead into a dining area. His arms were crossed, his face contorted into a smug smirk.

Hateful words raged on the tip of her tongue, threatening to overflow. Yet she stayed silent. If he could inflict this sort of pain on her simply by using a door handle, she did not want to know of the immense pain he could inflict if he really tried.

So she clenched her unburned hand into a tight fist, while the other hung limply by her side, biting her tongue.

He gestured for her to follow him and brought her into the dining area.

It was a spacious room with a high ceiling. Heavy velvet curtains in shades of deep red, burgundy and gold hung along one of the walls, blocking out all the sunlight. This room was carpeted, helping her warm her feet slightly. In the middle of the room was a long table made of fine oak. There were only two chairs, each placed on either end of the table. The wall behind the table consisted of a grand fireplace, with cupboards on either side. The cupboards contained books and fine china, as well as a candelabra and an old wooden clock. She also spotted his spinning wheel in the corner, close to the fireplace. All in all it was a dismal room, but it had potential.

He sat down in the chair furthest away, facing her, a good few yards between them. She followed to stand closer, yet still kept her distance. He looked at her without saying a word, his fingertips pressed together and elbows resting on the chair's manchettes. The silence made her uncomfortable, her gaze cast downwards, watching her fingers fiddle with her cloak. She hissed in pain as the fabric grazed against her vicious burn.

"I thought we should go over your duties," he announced, rising to stand in front of her.

"You will cook, clean and launder my clothes." He strode slowly towards her, and then around her, as if he was a vulture sizing up his prey. "You will fetch me straw when I spin at the wheel." He now stood behind her, too close for her liking. Refusing to show weakness or fear, she stood her ground, her gaze fixed on the candelabra in the cupboard. Despite her best attempts to stay calm, she jumped as she saw his hands reach out and undo her cloak. His fingers touched her neck by accident, but it still sent shivers down her spine.

He withdrew and walked over to one of the armchairs by the fireplace, throwing her cloak over its back. She suddenly felt very bare in front of him, and crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously.

"And you will have dinner with me every night," he concluded, making his way to stand in front of her, his hand bracing itself against the table as he leaned toward her. "Think you can handle that, dearie?"

"Dinner? With you? Every night?" She asked. Even she could hear the fear in her voice.

"Why, yes. Nothing like sharing a meal together. It'll be just like we're married," he giggled.

She tried to imagine sitting across from him every single night for the rest of her life. Having to share the same meal as him, perhaps even have a conversation with him. It made her sick to her core.

"And if I refuse?" She asked, trying to test the boundaries.

"Well, let me put it this way, dearie. Either you eat with me, or you don't eat at all." He pointed at her with his index finger. "Understand?"

"Yes," she replied stiffly, her eyes never leaving his, refusing to be the one who looked away.

"Very well, then." He leaned in closer. She could feel his hot breath on her skin, and leaned away by instinct. The lack of space between them made her feel vulnerable. "Get to it," he ordered, pulling away from her smoothly.

"Aren't you going to show me around so I know where everything is?" She asked incredulously. "I mean, it's quite a big estate." She gestured to her surroundings.

"Fine. You can start by scrubbing the stairs. Just go into the hall and to your right. I trust you know how to scrub?" He raised an eyebrow at her skeptically, his stupid grin never leaving his face.

"Yes," she replied tightly. She could feel her cheeks stain with anger.

"Nice to see your father didn't raise you completely incompetent after all." He began spinning his wheel, silently dismissing her. The mention of her father made her heart ache. How dare he speak of her father at all! He destroyed him!

It took all she had to restrain herself and not fling herself at him in a fit of rage. She turned on her heel and walked with angered steps out of the room, muttering incoherently the whole time. She could hear his manic giggle from behind her, and didn't restrain any of her rage as she slammed the door shut and went to find cleaning supplies.

* * *

It had taken her half an hour, but she had finally found the cupboard that contained buckets, sponges and soap. She had wandered around the entire estate, checking every room as she went along the dismal corridors. She had given up the search on the second floor, as most of the rooms were used as storage or were bedrooms. She had finally found the kitchen and was surprised to find it well stocked. The food cabinet had held all sorts of fruit and loaves of bread, as well as a rack for spices. The kitchen itself had a more domestic feel than the rest of the castle. The worktop counter seemed to be made of the finest marble. Razor sharp cooking knives hung along the wall by the oven and cutlery was placed in cupboards.

What really surprised her were the windows. They weren't covered up like the rest of the estate and glorious sunlight shone through. Those windows were the first peak of the outside world she had seen since arriving here. She could see mountains out towards the horizon and hills covered in wild flowers stretched out before her. It seemed so surreal to think that not long ago, she had stared out at that same horizon with a brighter future ahead of her. If she climbed onto the workbench and stretched she could spot her village. But she didn't linger there too long; for fear that thoughts of her previous life would turn her into an emotional mess.

The cleaning supplies were stored in a cabinet in the corner. She had filled a bucket with warm water and soap and found an old wooden scrubbing brush.

The stairs now loomed in front of her and her mouth fell open in awe and despair. The steps were huge and there were at least a hundred of them. They led to a part of the second floor that she hadn't explored. Despite her wanting to just drown herself in the bucket of water and hope for a better afterlife, she got down on her hands and knees and started scrubbing.

She worked her way meticulously across the marble stairs. Her back soon ached with the strain and the warm water and soap agitated her burned palm. She kept her eyes downcast, focusing on the step in front of her, fearing that glancing up and seeing how much she had left to scrub would make her lose faith completely.

She didn't know how much time had passed before she had to take a break. Her knees were bruised with the constant weight and her wrists were stiff. Her blue dress was soaked up to her knees and her hair hung in grimy strands, damp from pushing her hair away from her face with her soapy hands.

She stretched her legs out in front of her, flexing her ankles while stretching her neck from side to side, trying to stretch the stiffness away. She had about a third of the steps to go. She thought she could hear footsteps coming around the corner from the reception hall and quickly got on her knees again, scrubbing furiously. She slowed, waiting for a manic giggle or a snide comment, but she heard nothing.

She sat with her back resting against the cold banister, admiring her work. The stairs practically gleamed and she was exhausted. Her sleeves were soaked all the way through and the bruises on her knees had darkened. The water in the bucket had turned a murky brown colour and she threw the scrubbing brush in triumphantly.

She slowly got up and stretched like a cat, picking up the bucket to take it to the kitchen. But something stopped her. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was poor judgment. But she couldn't help but wanting to explore this part of the castle too. Rumple had not mentioned any places she  _couldn't_ go. What harm could it do?

She gently placed the bucket in the corner of the step and made her way up the stairs. A long hallway stretched out both left and right. She went right, but was disappointed to find that all the doors were used for storage, all rooms containing furniture draped with white sheets. She turned back, hoping she would have better luck. The hallway to the left only consisted of one door at the very end, the remaining walls all covered with dusty paintings. She neared the door and before daring to open it, touched it ever so gently with the tip of her finger, just to be sure. No burn.

She turned the knob, and any hope of finding anything interesting shattered, as she found the door was locked. She lowered her face to the keyhole, seeing if she could make out anything through the tiny window. All she could see was a faint, iridescent glow coming from something sleek and silvery that was catching the sun's rays.

She tried the door one more time, but quickly gave up, retiring to her bucket of dirty water. Her thoughts were jumping to all sorts of suspicious conclusions.  _What on earth could he be hiding in there? It must be important since the door was locked. But then again, loads of doors in this castle are locked, why would this one be any different?_ Despite trying to rationalize with herself, she couldn't shake the feeling that  _something_  was behind that door. Something that Rumplestiltsken wanted to protect. And maybe, just maybe, something that could be her ticket out of here.

* * *

Steak. That was what he had asked for. With roast potatoes and salad. She had spent the last two hours in the kitchen, making sure to season the steak properly and keep it a golden brown. The roast potatoes were baking in the oven and the salad was finished and placed in a bowl on the counter. Despite her not being able to stand the sight of him, she figured she could at least fix them both a good dinner. She would hate to fall asleep with a half empty stomach down in the dungeon.

He sat propped up in his chair comfortably, his legs crossed, with a gaze that followed her as she balanced their two plates on a tray. She placed his plate of food in front of him, trying to hide a smile as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Just as she was about to walk to her end of the table with her plate, he grabbed her gently by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

He turned her hand over in his, her palm facing up, and he leaned in to inspect her burn. It had not healed very well since the soapy water, and still stung profusely with even the slightest touch. She couldn't help but wince as his fingertip trailed along the rim of angry blisters.

He looked up at her, his dark eyes never leaving hers as he lifted her hand just inches from his mouth and blew gently on her wound. She felt a tingling sensation and the warmth of his fingers still lingered on her skin as he released her. She inspected her palm. The wound was gone, as if by magic. Not even a scar to prove that it had ever existed.

She couldn't help the surprised expression that graced her features. "Thank you," she said softly, turning her hand this way and that.

"No matter," he said, taking a sip of his wine. "Eat your dinner."

They ate together in silence. He would occasionally glance up at her, making sure she was eating, and she would occasionally flex her hand, relieved that the nagging sting had finally subsided. Thanks to him.

After a while he pushed his plate further away from him, the sound of the china against the oak table breaking the deafening silence, and rubbed his belly with satisfaction.

"I must say, dearie. That was simply delicious."

He looked almost pleased, and it might have been her imagination, but his eyes suddenly didn't seem as dark, as if his lightened mood somehow made his eyes take on a golden hue. She liked it.

"Thank you," she replied graciously, appreciating any form of kindness he showed her.

Her thoughts drifted back to the locked door by the stairs, and the endless amount of possibilities of what could be behind it. She figured now was as good a time as any to ask him about it, the pleasing meal perhaps making it easier for her to have a conversation with him without upsetting him.

"What's behind the locked door, on the second floor by the stairs?"

She had meant to gently ask him, drop subtle hints and such, and cursed herself for blurting out the question without thinking of the consequences.

"I don't know which door you are referring to," he answered smoothly, his dark fingers reaching for his glass of wine. The crooked smile on his face suggested otherwise.

Better to play along.

"You know, the lonesome door to the left of the stairs." She got up from her seat, picking up her used dishes on the way, thinking that the kitchen could be a quick escape in case things got ugly. She strode over to his side, arranging his dishes and cutlery on top of hers. "What's in there? All I could see was a faint glow of some sort, and-"

She was cut off by him rising quickly to his feet and slamming his hand on the table. She jumped back in surprise and dropped their cutlery on the floor. His wine glass had toppled over by the force of his outburst, staining the table with hypnotic scarlet. The gold hue in his eyes had disappeared completely, and much like her burn, there didn't seem to be any trace of it ever being there at all.

His brows were furrowed in anger, and his face was only inches from hers, his hot breath stained with wine and anger.

"Don't  _ever_  think about going in that room. Ever." He practically snarled at her. The animalistic rage in his voice was practically palpable.

She felt fear settle in the pit of her stomach, as his dark glare pierced her very soul. He frightened her. She was actually frightened of him.

And with that he quickly strode past her, bumping her shoulder as he left. She staggered back at the brutal force, and stared after his retreating figure in pure disbelief, stupefied by his sudden and fearsome outburst. She quickly mopped up the spillage and picked up the cutlery she had dropped before scurrying into the kitchen.

The rough sponge rubbed against the used plates vigorously, as she tried desperately to swallow the tears of fear that threatened to overflow and mix with the soapy water. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not stifle the suppressed sob that escaped her lips, at the realization that she was forced to dine and share a home with this ill-tempered monster for the rest of her life.


	3. Conflicted

A few months had passed since Belle had first set foot in his castle. His stubborn side liked to admit that nothing had changed, but that would be a lie. Everything had changed. The castle seemed brighter, more vibrant. His house had now become a home. Every surface sparkled with pride, and the air even smelled of her…

She was everywhere. Everywhere he looked there seemed to be a trace of her, and he didn't seem to mind. The constant reminder of her presence had grown to become reassuring.

For she had grown accustomed to living with him. Her shoulders were no longer tense while they ate together in silence, and her eyes no longer widened in fear as he approached her. Nowadays she often sat in the armchair by the fire and watched him work at his spinning wheel, or read him some of her favourite stories.

She had quickly read him the few books she had brought with her from her childhood home, and he remembered how her eyes had sparkled with joy as she entered the dining room one evening to find his shelves and cupboards cleaned and restocked with countless books.

"Do you like it?" he had asked, silently asking for her approval.

She had touched his arm gently, not shying away from him. "I love it," she had answered, so much appreciation in her voice.

Her simple gesture of gratitude sparked something in him. He couldn't identify it, and it was hard to find again once the moment had passed, but if he looked deep within his soul and conjured up pictures of her in his mind, the feeling would softly swell and echo beneath the surface of his skin.

She now sat in the armchair by the fire, like she always did after a long day of cleaning, and watched him spin. She rested her chin on her folded arms; her tired eyes following his fingers as they carefully spun the straw.

He tried so hard not to look at her, to concentrate on the task in front of him, but ever so often his concentration would dwindle and he would sneak a glimpse of her. Her skin seemed to glow in the faint light of the fire and her auburn curls glistened as they cascaded down her back. The only sound that could be heard was the soft crackling of the fire and the sound of two hearts beating.

"Why do you spin so much?" she asked suddenly.

He looked up from his hands, which he realized had stopped working. Her eyes were so full of questions. He furrowed his brow and averted his gaze. "It helps me forget," he murmured, hoping that this would stop her wanting to learn more about him. For despite the fact that he wanted to know everything about her, he didn't want her knowing too much about him. He didn't want her to know his weaknesses… his desires…

"Are you happy here, Belle?" He gestured to their dimly lit surroundings. He rose from where he sat behind the spinning wheel.

A faint smile played across her lips. "Why, yes. I saved my father, didn't I?" Her gaze became distant, reminiscing how her life used to be.

He kneeled in front of her, mimicking her position, resting his chin on his arms. Their faces were now only a few breaths apart.

"But was it worth it?" he asked, his voice now nothing but a faint whisper. He had meant to sound nonchalant, teasing, but he only sounded vulnerable.

"I like to think so." She smiled at him wistfully, her eyes never leaving his. And however much he tried, he could not look away. "And besides…" Her voice faded, and she trailed her fingers across the fabric of his shirt.

He tried his best to keep very still, not wanting her to strip him of her touch.

"Besides what?" he asked, not noticing that he was inching closer to her. When she looked up, their noses were almost touching. But she didn't shy away. She didn't hesitate or second-guess staying this close to him. She seemed to welcome this intimacy. And he couldn't deny the fact that he wasn't fighting it either.

"I got to meet you," she whispered. He could feel the heat from her skin and the whole world seemed to stop for just an instant as her words registered. Her fingers had stilled. And in this instant, reality suddenly struck him, hard. He shouldn't be having these feelings for this woman. She was just someone he had invited to help maintain his home. He wasn't looking for love when he had taken her away from the only life she had ever known. This wasn't meant to happen.

Yet… maybe…

He quickly rose to his feet, straightening his waistcoat, trying to rid himself of her warm touch. "It's getting late."

She looked bewildered at his sudden change in mood, but rose from the armchair with as much grace as she could muster.

This was the part of the evening when he would lead her down to her  _chambers_  and bid her goodnight. He gestured for her to lead the way and followed her as they made their way down the stone steps to the dungeons.

Tonight he felt particularly cruel as he led her into the cold cell. He had upgraded her bed to a proper mattress with two duvets and a pillow, but tonight it didn't feel like enough. She sighed in content as she settled into her sleeping quarters.

"Goodnight, Rumple," she said softly as she pulled the duvets up to her chin.

"Goodnight," he murmured in return as he shut the cell door. Despite the fact that this had been their routine for the past couple of weeks, tonight it felt wrong. Tonight he felt barbaric and insensitive. Like the monster he tried so hard not to be.

* * *

Yet another evening had passed. They had dined together as usual; the only sounds filling the air were the sounds of cutlery scraping against fine china and the occasional casual exchange of words.

She had read him one of her favourite books of all time: Romeo and Juliet. She had noticed how Rumple seemed completely absorbed in the story, watching her lips as they moved and glancing down at her fingers as they turned a page.

When he had asked her to read it to him again, she had gladly complied, smiling to herself as he recited some of the passages under his breath as she read.

It had been a few days since they had been this close. They now sat facing each other, their knees almost touching, their bodies subconsciously leaning closer to each other. He had deliberately kept his distance from her after she had said she was glad she had met him. She didn't mean to scare him with her bluntness, but it was, after all, the truth.

Now that she had read the book cover to cover for a second time, the fire had died, and now nothing but embers radiated a careful warmth.

Her body ached from sitting so long and she could feel sleep creeping along the edges of her vision, her eyelids suddenly feeling heavy. She stretched like a cat, trying to stretch away the traces of tiredness that threatened to engulf her. Rumple didn't look tired. His gold eyes were as alert as they always were, and he didn't take his eyes off her as she sagged back into the armchair.

He smiled faintly as he rose to his feet. He now stood directly in front of her, offering out his hand as if he was asking her to dance. His gold skin seemed almost silver as the moonlight streaming in through the high windows illuminated his features.

She only stared at his outstretched hand, her brow furrowed in confusion.

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Time for bed, dearie."

Tonight her pet name didn't seem sarcastic, and it didn't evoke a feeling of uneasiness within her. Tonight it sounded almost… affectionate…

She laid her hand in his and let him pull her up from the comfortable armchair. Cold air chilled her warm back and she shivered, her hand still being held delicately in his. His gold, calloused hand, felt warm and reassuring and she couldn't help but feel a little rejected as he released her from his touch.

He cleared his throat, clearly looking uncomfortable, before he gestured for her to lead the way. "Shall we?"

She looked at him quizzically, always confused by how he would suddenly pull away from their closeness. She could never keep track of what he was feeling, as he would constantly restrain himself. One moment he seemed utterly engulfed by her presence, daring and brave, and the next he was shying away from her, as if he thought them being that close was wrong.

She decided not to dwell on it and straightened her skirt before leading them both out of the dining room.

She couldn't help but be hyperaware of the fact that he was constantly making sure that there was always an acceptable amount of space between them.

She turned to lead them down the cold steps to the dungeons. She hated sleeping down there. No matter how many duvets he gave her, the damp air would always seem to creep beneath the covers, her body numb from the cold as she woke in the morning.

She descended the first few steps, not noticing that Rumple wasn't following her until she heard his voice. "Where do you think you're going, dearie?"

A huge grin was plastered on his face, amused by her obvious confusion. "To my room?" It sounded more like a question than a statement.

He merely shook his head and waved her to follow him. "This way."

He led them into the huge hall with the marble staircase she had scrubbed just a few months ago. He hadn't asked her to repeat that awful chore since.

He walked up the stairs, her trailing behind him. He stopped in front of an oak door with a small heart carved into the wood. He stepped back, allowing her to be the first to enter. She placed her hand on the handle carefully, turning to look at him one more time. He simply smiled a crooked smile at her, urging her to open the door.

She turned the handle and the door swung open. Her mouth fell open as she stood on the threshold of the most exquisite room she had ever seen. In the middle of the room was a huge, four-poster bed with silk sheets the colour of pale sunshine. She noticed a single rose resting on one of the pillows. Opposite the bed was a grand fireplace, with fully stocked bookshelves on either side. By the wall where the door was located, stood an antique vanity dressing table and a wardrobe. The wall facing them consisted of tall windows without any curtains, a gesture that made her smile. He knew how much she loved the light.

She wandered gingerly over to the huge bed and let her fingertips touch the silky smooth fabric.

"I don't understand." She turned to see him leaning against the vanity table behind her, amused by her stunned expression.

"I just thought you would like your own proper room," he said casually. He wandered up to her, his arms held behind his back in a playful manner.

Her very own bedroom.

The man standing before her now was nothing like the insensitive monster that had imprisoned her all those months ago. Right now, standing before her and offering her an act of selflessness, she saw the man he must have been once, the man he could maybe once again become.

She beamed a smile at him and flung her arms around his neck, not caring about how uncomfortable he might feel, or the consequences. She was grateful and wanted to show it.

"Thank you," she whispered, not wishing to let go just yet.

He hesitated at first, but soon he returned her embrace, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. She loved the way their bodies seemed to mould together, and felt a slight emptiness as they drew apart.

He looked down at her, and she could see that he was amazed at his own behaviour, that he had let himself feel  _something_  and act upon those feelings. He had allowed himself to be brave.

He let his hands gently leave her waist and she, too, released him of her embrace. Their moment had passed.

He walked over to the door, glancing back once more before leaving her. "Sleep well, Belle."

That night she slept soundly, dreams seducing her into a deep sleep.

_She dreamt the door of her new bedroom opened slightly, faint light from the hall streaming in, illuminating the dark figure of a man. She opened her eyes into tired slits and saw the figure nearing her bedside. She closed her eyes, trying to still her beating heart. She felt the warmth radiating off his skin as he leaned down towards her. It took most of her self-control not to open her eyes as she felt a hand stroke her hair and warm lips kiss her forehead delicately, affectionately. It seemed so real, almost too real._

_And then the warmth disappeared. She opened her heavy eyes slightly, just in time to see a shadow disappear down the hall and her bedroom door close. Sleep overcame her once more, the feeling of warm affection still tingling on the surface of her skin._

* * *

She had been cleaning all morning and her feet ached. This was the last room she had to clean before she could take the rest of the day off. She carried the bucket of lukewarm water and broom with her as she opened the door with her elbow.

It was just an ordinary study. The curtains were pulled, shutting out the glorious sunshine outside. The room consisted of a desk, on which lay mounds and mounds of papers strewn across its surface. Towards one side of the room were countless boxes stacked on top of each other, some sealed shut whilst others had toppled over, the contents spilling out across the dusty carpeted floor.

She sighed as she made her way over to the curtains, yanking them open and letting the sun illuminate the gloomy space.

She could now see the cobwebs in the corners of the room, and was sure she saw something crawl along carpet and hide beneath the mound of boxes. She began organizing the desk. Dust particles whirled through the air as she dusted the desk's surface. She didn't dare get rid of anything, for fear it was something Rumple would find important, so instead attempted to make the clutter a bit more presentable.

She noticed the desk had three drawers and curiosity got the better of her as she peeked inside. She fiddled through the drawers, taking this opportunity to explore. The top drawer only contained old, dried up ink and fresh parchment. She pulled the parchment out and a small spark of excitement flared within her as she spotted a set of keys underneath where the parchment had been. She held them up to the light, studying each key individually. There must have been at least two dozen and the bows consisted of intricate swirls.

Her mind immediately travelled back to the locked door she had come across while cleaning the stairs. She remembered the faint glow she had seen through the keyhole and curiosity bloomed within her, threatening to overpower her self-control.

She also remembered Rumple's reaction when she had asked him about that door. How he had suddenly become defensive, warning her never to enter that room. He had frightened her that night, and she hadn't spoken of the door since. To be honest, she had recently forgotten it even existed. Until now.

Now endless possibilities of what may be behind the door flooded her mind, and despite Rumple's warnings, she felt compelled to find out.

She was about to rush out the door, heading towards the forbidden door, when she suddenly remembered that Rumple was still in the castle. Although it seemed unlikely, she couldn't risk him finding her trying to break into his forbidden space. She would have to wait until he had left the castle. It was the only way.

She slipped the keys into the pocket of her dress, as she promised herself that she would wait until the time was right before she silenced her curiosity once and for all.

* * *

Rumple's trip into town couldn't have come at a better time. He had announced at the breakfast table the next morning that he would be heading into town to fetch some more straw. Belle had tried to hide her excitement at this promise of privacy, and tried her best to contain her joy as she had made him a packed lunch.

She now wished him a pleasant trip and reassured him that she would still be there when he returned. It meant a lot to her that he trusted her enough to leave her alone in his castle. Maybe he trusted her too much, considering she was about to ignore his warning and unlock the forbidden door.

She waited until he had rounded the corner by the gates to the castle before she ran up to her room to fetch the keys. She had hidden them in the jewellery box on her vanity table, figuring they would be safe there.

She practically sprinted to the locked door, the excitement of doing what was not allowed making her feel like a little child.

She arrived in front of the door breathless, gripping the keys tightly. She chose a key at random, testing to see if it fit. It didn't.

After trying over half of the keys, she finally selected the right one. She held her breath as she turned the key and heard the lock click. She carefully swung the door open, a loud creaking sound filling the silence.

She didn't know what she had expected, but it wasn't what she saw before her.

The room was small and empty, apart from a dagger that hung on the opposite wall. The sun shone through the barred windows, reflecting off the dagger and creating the faint glow she had remembered seeing through the keyhole.

It wasn't like any other dagger she had seen. It certainly didn't look like a weapon. The way it was displayed on the wall, so presentably, made it seem like more of a symbol, than an instrument with which to harm others.

She picked it up and studied it more carefully. The hilt felt heavy and seemed to be made of real gold. The actual blade was curved and decorated with intricate patterns. The main feature of the blade was something written in impressive cursive. She had to squint to make out the letters, but soon she could read the word perfectly.

_Rumplestiltsken._

What on earth was this? This was no ordinary dagger; that much she was certain of.

She should have put it back where it belonged and forgotten its existence. Instead, she ignored what little common sense she still had and continued to study the dagger, holding it up to the sunlight.

"What do you think you are doing?"

The menacing voice from the doorway frightened her and made her drop the dagger; the sound of it clattering to the floor seemed to echo forever. She spun around to see him standing there, his eyes black with rage. Her heart thudded frantically with pure terror.

She tried to find the words to explain, but didn't get the chance to. He was suddenly at her side, grabbing her forearm forcefully, earning a gasp from her rosy lips.

"I thought I told you never to come in here!"

His voice cracked as he shouted in her face, shaking her as a way of emphasizing his anger.

She tried to pry his hand from her arm, but he was too strong.

"I'm sorry," she begged. "I just wanted to see what-"

"Do you realize what you could have done?" The dagger was suddenly in his hand, though she hadn't seen him move to retrieve it off the floor. He now held it between them, the tip of it hovering mere breaths from her neck. She swallowed and felt the tip of it pierce her skin.

"It seems as though you, dearie, don't understand what it means to obey."

She watched as his face suddenly twisted into a devilish grin, his eyes now sparkling with purpose, determination and lunacy. He lowered the knife until it hovered between her breasts.

"But I can take care of that." His voice now sounded almost animalistic. She had never felt more terrified in his presence. All traces of the caring man he had been these past few months had vanished completely, his rage making him primitive and dangerous. His eyes now gleamed with a malicious purpose that made him the monster he tried so hard not to be.

He suddenly turned on his heal, dragging her with him as he hastily made his way out of the room and down the marble stairs.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, stumbling behind him as he tightened his grip on her arm.

"Where you'll feel right at home."

A new wave of terror washed over as he led them down the stone stairs that led to the dungeons. The dungeons had become a place where her worst nightmares took place, and she tried her best to struggle as he opened the cell door with a flick of his wrist.

He pushed her into the cell, and she could hear him snicker behind her as she fell on her knees.

She had expected to hear his retreating laugh as the cell door slammed shut. Instead she heard his voice within the stone walls of the gloomy cell. She scrambled to her feet and saw him leaning against the locked cell door, his hands grazing along the blade of the dagger.

"What are you doing?" she asked, terrified of the answer he might give her, an answer that promised agony and humiliation.

"Don't worry, dearie." He flicked his wrist ever so slightly, a rather harmless gesture with not-so-harmless consequences.

She felt herself being flung towards the stone wall and pinned there. Her breath caught at the force of the impact and her vision clouded.

He placed the tip of the dagger under her chin, willing her to look at him. She held her breath as he lowered his face to hers.

"You have nothing to be afraid of."


	4. Tender Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter contains psychological abuse and hints of sexual abuse.

She swallowed hard and ignored the slight pain she felt as the tip of the dagger pierced her throat. "What are you going to do to me?" She tried to keep her voice steady, emotionless.

"Nothing you don't deserve," he answered simply. He smiled at her crookedly, sending ripples of fear through her veins. But she refused to show it. She had to be the brave person she so desperately wanted to be.

So she locked eyes with him, never breaking her stare, her jaw set as she replied with as much confidence she could muster.

"You would never hurt me." She felt like she was teasing him, egging him on to do something they would both regret. But she didn't care.

He snickered. "And what makes you so sure of that,  _dearie?_ "

He withdrew the knife from her chin and twirled it in his hand, the blade swinging mere inches from her cheek. He stopped and leaned towards her, brushing past her nose, his breath in her ear. She could feel his steady heartbeat in the pulse point of his throat as he whispered in her ear.

"You fear me, dearie. I can practically  _smell_  it."

She closed her eyes at the feel of his lips so close to her skin, and didn't see as he raised the knife to graze her chest. She only felt the cold metal of the blade as it sliced the skin just below her collarbone, drawing blood that trickled down into her shirt. She gasped in surprise, her skin searing as she stifled a faint cry.

She now struggled against the magical hold he had on her, suddenly not so sure of her safety. She tried wiggling herself from the wall, but it was as if she was welded there. She couldn't move a muscle.

He continued to whisper in her ear as he trailed the edge of the knife lightly across the exposed skin of her upper chest. "There's no point in struggling, dearie. Dark magic has a way of overpowering its… victim." He made the word 'victim' sound like it was a sentence, pausing for dramatic effect.

She didn't say anything. She simply stood there; trying to retain the bravery she felt dwindling inside her.

He pulled away from her, and to her relief, withdrew the knife from her skin.

"What to do with you…" The knife dangled in his hand as he brought his other hand to his chin theatrically. He walked back and forth, his eyes gazing up and down her body, like a vulture before it makes its move. She suddenly felt so vulnerable before him, as she could feel his eyes trail all over her body.

"Well, you disobeyed me and went where I  _specifically_ told you not to. And you touched what wasn't yours." He gestured to the knife. "I don't think you understand the seriousness of your offences."

He stopped to stand in front of her, his eyes alight with mischief. "You must understand I cannot ignore this?" He stood with his arms behind his back, swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet.

He was speaking to her as if she was a child who needed to be taught a lesson. Her parents had never spoken to her this way. It felt patronizing and anger bubbled inside her. Whatever common sense had convinced her to just keep her mouth shut had dissipated.

"Then go ahead. Do your worst, Rumpelstiltskin." She suppressed the cunning smile that threatened to spread across her face. "Prove you're not the coward we both know you to be."

She knew this would push him over the edge. She saw it happen. Whatever leniency might have lurked in the back of his mind was gone forever as his eyes turned black and his smile faded.

"You know what, dearie? I think I just might." His voice dripped with a promise of pain. He snapped his fingers and instantly her arms were loosened from the wall. But before she could even grasp that she was partially set free, her arms were dragged upwards by an invisible force. She felt iron close around her wrists tightly as they were pinned to the stone wall, and she couldn't fight the cry of pain escape her lips as the iron continued to dig into her skin, numbing her fingers completely. She hung her head and shut her eyes tight, willing the pain away.

"Now what to do with you…" he mused. He gently held her chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing her to look at him. A rather loving gesture in a rather terrifying situation.

"What would you like, dearie? To relive your most painful memories? To stay down here until your body aches from hunger and loneliness? How about sudden unexplainable and unbearable spasms of pain? Or perhaps…" He slowly reached out to touch her, his gold hand trailing up her side and cupping her breast through her dress.

"Don't touch me!" She snapped. The thought of him forcing himself on her like that seemed too cruel, even for him.

He smiled crookedly at her, withdrawing his hand slowly. She hardly recognized him. He was no longer the man she had shared her meals with for the past few months, read her favourite stories to. That man had been silenced by the beast that now stood before her. He seemed almost possessed to her, like he was fighting his own actions but always coming up short. Darkness had tainted him and taken over his soul, stifling the kindness she knew existed within him. But right now, being chained and awaiting suffering, his kindness seemed like nothing but a distant memory.

"Very well," he said softly. "How about a little bit of everything?" He gently touched the tip of her nose with his finger before he spun on his heel, took a long stride, and spun around to face her again. They looked into each other's eyes for just a moment, her eyes pleading him to stop and his eyes blinded by the Dark torment inside his soul.

All it took was a snap of his fingers, and the little hope inside her praying that he wouldn't let himself hurt her, shattered to pieces.

First came the pain. It didn't lurk in the shadows and slowly make its appearance after teasing her senses for a few moments. It hit her fast and hard. It sprang to life from the very depths of her being, splitting her soul apart. It was as if he had taken all the misery, pain and suffering in the world and crammed it into the tiny space of her heart. She could hear screaming coming from somewhere, muffled by the deafening ringing in her ears. It took her a moment to realize the shrieks of suffering were coming from her lips. Her lungs seemed to cave in and she couldn't catch her breath, silencing her pleas for mercy.

The pain seemed to seep down her legs, and she imagined her bones being smouldered to dust inside her body. Her head pounded, the searing pain making it seem as though her head was being ripped in half. She felt tears of pure ache and cruelty spring from her eyes, clouding her vision and stain her cheeks. She saw the edges of her vision darken as she felt herself slip further and further away from the dungeon, to a place that seemed much safer and more peaceful.

And then the pain stopped.

The rest of her body was now also released from the wall. Her knees buckled as she slumped to the floor, her shackled wrists the only thing holding her upright. She gasped for air, her salty tears trickling between her lips and down her neck.

She caught a glimpse of him, standing in front of her, watching her silently. She thought for a moment that it was over, that he had had his fun and she could rest.

Then the sight of him disappeared, her vision blurring fast. Darkness surrounded her for a moment before visions of her old bedroom sprung to life.

It was all so real, exactly the way she had left it. She stumbled around, confused as to how she had appeared here. Had everything that happened with Rumpelstiltskin been nothing but a dream? Relief washed over her and a false sense of security calmed her for a moment. That was when she heard the heart-wrenching scream.

She recognized the voice immediately. She yanked open the door and bolted down the stairs, almost tripping as she ran. She appeared in the living room of her old home. But the grotesque sight in front of her was nothing like how her past life had been.

Her father lay on the floor, looking old and dishevelled. His cheeks were sunken and his open eyes were glazed and white. He suddenly gasped and rasped out something she couldn't understand. His voice was dark and sinister, nothing like the father she remembered.

She ran to kneel at his side, clutching his hand tightly. "I'm here, Papa. I'm here." She brought his hand to her cheek. His skin was like ice.

His body suddenly began to shake uncontrollably, as if ripples of painful spasms racked his body viciously. Blood began to pool from his chest quickly, staining his shirt and soaking the floor beneath him. She couldn't understand where the blood was coming from. There was no open wound.

She frantically tried to apply pressure to where the blood was coming from, but it wouldn't stop. It flowed onto the floor and stained her dress, the sky blue fabric turning crimson.

"Papa!" She yelled, trying to keep his body still as best she could. "Don't leave me!"

She felt the floor beneath her shudder, her whole universe suddenly becoming unhinged. Their living room walls were suddenly dripping with darkness, sliding down the walls in a thick, almost tar-like substance. The tar-like substance swallowed their house, leaving nothing but darkness. Soon the liquid was creeping towards them, coating the floor beneath them.

It seeped towards them, crawling across her father's blood stained chest and touching her calves, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. There were no walls, no ceiling, nothing to hold onto. Just darkness.

And then they were falling, tumbling into oblivion. The darkness had seemed to swallow the sturdy ground beneath them and her father's body became consumed by the darkness around them. She screamed for him, but he didn't answer. He was gone.

She didn't know how far she fell, but the ground came out of nowhere. She plummeted to the floor, her elbow and hip breaking her fall. The wind was knocked out of her and her head swam as she tried to hang on to consciousness. She groaned as she attempted to sit up.

She was in Rumpelstiltskin's dungeon, but the stone walls had been replaced with some type of padded material, even the floor. She frantically searched for a way out, not finding any windows or doors, and the only source of light was a faint, glowing orb that hung from the ceiling.

She rose to her feet and began prodding the walls, desperately looking for an escape. She banged her fists against the padding, panic weaving its way into her chest, making it hard to breathe.

She stumbled around the room, pressing her fingers to her temples, trying to calm herself down when she heard a familiar voice from behind her. "There's no need to be afraid, Belle."

Although it had been so long since that melodic voice had spoken, she would recognize it anywhere.

"Mama?"

She turned around to see that one of the padded walls had disappeared, revealing nothing but a black void. A beam of light within the darkness suddenly flared to life, and in the glow of this light stood one of the people she loved the most.

Her mother hadn't changed since the last day Belle saw her, all those years ago. She still looked like the beauty Belle remembered her to be, her chestnut curls identical to Belle's, but her face even more lovely.

"Mama!" Belle raced forward and flung herself into her mother's arms. She buried her face in her chest and inhaled her scent, a mixture of clean water and pine.

"I missed you, darling," she said into her hair, before pulling Belle back at arms length.

"You look so much like your father," her mother's gentle voice said, tears welling up in her eyes. Belle's cheeks were quickly stained with joy of their illusion-fuelled reunion.

"I missed you so much, Mama," she said, smiling through her tears of happiness. All traces of her mother's untimely death had been erased from her body; her face bearing no scars from where the robbers had mutilated her face.

Then the smile on her mother's face faded, quickly being replaced with an expression of confusion, and then pain. Her brow furrowed as she fell to her knees.

Belle quickly dropped to her knees in front of her, taking her face between her palms. "What's wrong, Mama?"

"You must leave this place," she whispered, obviously struggling to speak through the pain gripping her body. "It's not safe here."

"I'm not leaving you! I've just found you again." Memories of her four-year-old self, clutching her father's hand at her mother's burial filled her mind.

"Belle, go no-"

Her words were cut off as her back suddenly arched and she crumpled to a heap. Blood dripped from her open mouth; her eyes turning black, as if her pupils were enveloping her eyes completely, stripping them of their spark. The darkness then dripped from her mother's eyes, as if she was crying black tears. Belle then saw what had caused her mother's sudden pain. From her back protruded the hilt of a knife, buried deep within her mother's body.

Belle reached to yank it out, sobbing as her actions earned a blood-filled gasp from her mother. The curved blade of the knife reflected the glowing light from above them and the word on the blade turned her blood to ice.

_Rumpelstiltskin._

She instantly flung the knife away from her, as if its touch had burned her and she scrambled to her feet to get away. The sound of his name induced fear and terror within her, and she didn't hesitate as she ran away from her mother's dying figure.

She tried to run back to the padded room, but there was no sign of it. No matter how fast or far she ran, she was still trapped in a sea of darkness. Her heart pounded in her chest as she desperately tried to find an escape.

" _You cannot hide from me, dearie."_

The amused voice resonated within the infinite space, only making her run faster. Out of nowhere she suddenly collided with something, holding her close, keeping her from stumbling.

Hands gripped her upper arms, nails digging into her flesh as she looked up into a face of malice. His grin and dark eyes made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Nobody can hide from The Beast." His voice was guttural as he smiled at her. His pupils dilated and resembled eerie abysses, as dark veins appeared underneath his eyes. An animalistic purr sounded from the back of his throat as he pulled her even closer. She struggled desperately to free herself of his grasp, pounding his chest and shaking her head in a futile attempt to escape. But there was no escape. There would never be an escape.

She couldn't breathe and her heartbeat seemed to slow, as if he was draining the life out of her through his touch. His nails dug into her flesh, drawing blood, before he suddenly released her and she crumpled to the floor. Her heartbeat continued to fade, before she felt it beat one final time, the darkness consuming her completely.

Her eyes flew open and she gasped for air, like she had almost drowned and finally made her way back to the surface. Memories of her parent's deaths, and her own, in the hands of Darkness, sent her into a state of panic as she tried desperately to clear her vision.

Terror still flowed freely through her veins and her wrists ached. Her cheeks were soaked with tears, her skin itchy from the salt.

As her vision finally cleared and her beating heart had calmed, she saw him stand before her, eyeing her as she returned to reality.  _It had all been a dream._

Despite knowing that what she had just witnessed had been nothing but a figment of Rumpelstiltskin's cruel imagination, she had never been more terrified. The way he had gotten inside her head, twisting thoughts of the people she loved into something menacing and dark, made her forget any sense of safety she had ever felt in his presence.

He flicked his wrist nonchalantly, her iron cuffs disappearing, releasing her of their bone-shattering grasp. She cried in surprise as she hit the stone floor. Her elbow and hip ached from when she had fallen into the padded room, making it all seem so real.

She didn't make an effort to move. She just lay there, sprawled on the floor as she felt him crouch down beside her. "Never disobey me again," he murmured, refraining from touching her. He rose to his feet and left her there, the cold floor chilling her to the bones.

She wanted to be strong, she really did, but she couldn't hold back the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks, as she sobbed uncontrollably for what seemed like an eternity.

* * *

It had been a good few hours since he had left Belle in her cell. She hadn't stirred, and neither had he. He sat in front of the dying fire, in the armchair she usually occupied. Images of her broken face and bruised body almost made him leap from his seat in front of the fire and fetch her. Almost.

He had regretted his actions almost immediately after he had left the cell, but he couldn't force himself to go back down there. Couldn't stand the pain he would see in her eyes.

He had caused her pain. The cowardly part of him would blame his actions on the Dark One, how his dark side had driven him to inflict her with pain and fear. For that was, at least, partially true.

When he had seen Belle holding his dagger; the only thing in this world that could lead to his downfall, he had panicked. He didn't want her knowing his weaknesses. He didn't want her knowing that there was a way to strip him of his powers. And he didn't want her to get hurt.

But that was what had happened. Belle  _had_  gotten hurt. The Dark One had flared inside him as he had dragged her to the dungeon, clouding his mind and judgement, stripping him of whatever kind nature he had shown her in the past few months. And now that the Dark One's evil wishes had faded to linger in the depths of his mind, he was just a distressed little man, ashamed and afraid of his own actions. A coward.

That was what she had called him, and she had been right. He had read her fears, and had seen that her biggest fear was losing her father, the only person left in this world she cared about. He had also seen memories of her mother's death, and played it to his advantage. He had twisted her fears into something almost tangible, something too real to face. And by doing this, he had scarred her deeply, perhaps beyond repair.

He could have stopped if he had really wanted to, forced the Dark One into the back of his mind, but he hadn't. Perhaps he was so desperate to keep his weakness from her, that he had been willing to hurt her, make her cry. Distant memories of the Dark One's feelings of lust for Belle, reaching out to fondle her, and the sheer thought of someone forcing themselves on her like that, made Rumpelstiltskin sick to his stomach.

He groaned in frustration, resting his elbows on his knees as he buried his face in his hands.

He had lost her.

* * *

It had been a few weeks since her last traumatizing visit to the dungeons. Visions of her bleeding parents still invaded her dreams, her screams waking her every night, her body drenched in sweat and her cheeks stained with tears.

She had barely spoken a word to Rumpel since he had left her to sob in her cell. She didn't know how long she had lain there, her tears staining the cold floor beneath her, as her whole body trembled with sorrow and fear. What little sunlight had illuminated the dungeon through the small windows high above had disappeared, and the moon had cast an eerie light in her cell when she finally stirred.

She had quietly walked up the stairs to the hall, even taking off her shoes so as not to make a sound. She peered around the hall, her eyes searching for any signs of movement in the faint light. Not seeing any sign of him, she had dashed across the hall and ran up the marble stairs two at a time, her shoes in hand. She rushed to her door and carefully closed it behind her. She clicked the lock, wishing to escape his presence for as long as possible.

She had stripped her body of her clothes, which were covered in dust and dirt from the dungeon floor. She had dried blood on her chest from where he had cut her and she couldn't rid the feeling of her parent's blood on her skin. Using her own personal bathroom she had discovered next to her bookshelves, she had lowered herself into the big basin and began scrubbing her skin profusely with her bare hands, using her nails to claw at her skin until she turned pink. The cut on her chest had stopped bleeding hours ago, but she couldn't leave it alone, and had scrubbed it until it had started bleeding again.

She had stopped to examine her wrists. Her fingers were no longer numb, but her wrists were covered in dark purple and black bruises, and some of her skin had been gnawed away by the iron, leaving cuts and sensitive pink skin visible across her ivory skin. It had looked as though Darkness itself had gripped her by the wrists.

She had ransacked a cabinet in the bathroom and found some cloth she used to bandage her chest and climbed into bed, pulling the duvet over her head. She had tried to find sleep, but suddenly felt trapped by the lack of light, memories of being surrounded by the darkness he had inflicted on her filling her mind. So she had lit every candle in her room, the heat making sweat form at her brow. But at least it had made her feel safer. She had eventually succumbed to sleep only to be woken by nightmares and the phantom sensation of his hands on her skin.

For the first week she hadn't left her room, not even for the meals they were still supposed to share together. He hadn't come for her the first night, but on the second night he had quietly knocked on her door, asking her to join him for dinner. She hadn't answered him. She had merely sat by the windowsill and stared at the door separating them.

After a few minutes he had given up and left food for her outside her door in case she was hungry. She was hungry, but she didn't touch the food. The only time she had allowed herself something to eat was the one time a day she would creep down to the kitchen, taking with her as much food from the pantry as she could, and stashing it in her room. She didn't feel like sitting across from him and pretending that nothing had happened.

After the first week he had become more persistent, begging her to join him for dinner. "We don't have to talk. You don't even have to look at me. Just please, come down." He had sounded nothing like the man from the dungeon, so she had reluctantly agreed.

They had sat in utter silence; the only sounds filling the air had been the sound of their cutlery scraping against fine china. She had stared at her plate and retired to the kitchen to tidy up before she had swallowed her last bite. She hadn't sat by the fireplace and watched him spin afterwards. She had simply left him and retired to her room with a curt "Goodnight."

Her wrists were still faintly bruised, and her sleep was still haunted by nightmares as she tidied away the tea set on the oak dining room table. He had insisted they have a cup of tea together after dinner, and she had no right to object. She walked over to his side, arranging his dirty cutlery on top of hers, her eyes downcast.

"Let me do it," he said softly, rising from his seat as he reached out to touch her arm. She jerked away in fear, recoiling at his touch. She looked up at him and saw the sorrow in his golden eyes. His brow was furrowed in sadness and she thought she could even see his bottom lip tremble. He looked nothing like the monster he had been a few weeks ago. He looked just as broken as she felt. Maybe even more.

But before she allowed herself to linger, she turned on her heal and made her way to the kitchen hastily, not noticing the threshold before she tripped and the cutlery flew out of her hands and crashed to the floor. Her elbows broke her fall, a searing pain radiating through her arms as she raised herself to her knees and began picking up the broken fragments of the tea set. Most of the plates and cups were completely shattered, apart from one cup that only had a small chip in its rim.

She didn't notice his presence until she felt his warm hand on her, rubbing comforting circles across her lower back, and she didn't notice her tears until he lifted her face and wiped them away with his thumb.

"It's chipped…" she sniffled, holding up the cup for him to see, trying to mute the sobs spilling from her lips. She didn't know why she was crying, but she couldn't contain the feeling of hopelessness and exhaustion that overflowed within her.

"It's just a cup, love," he said soothingly. He removed the cup from her hands and set it down among the remains of his tea set before scooping her up into his arms.

She didn't object to his closeness, but rather welcomed the warmth of his body as he carried her up the marble stairs to her bedroom. Perhaps she was just too tired of being afraid of him. The door to her room swung open of its own accord as they entered and he lay her down softly on her bed.

He tried to set her down, but she wouldn't release him. She just held her arms tightly around his neck, for some reason not willing to be separated from his warmth. He understood her wish and sat down on her bed, cradling her on his lap. Her face was buried in his neck and he rocked her soothingly back and forth as she sobbed, her tears staining his golden skin.

He reached to gently grab her wrist, his fingers delicately tracing her bruise and the cuts on her fingers she must have gotten from trying to clean up the broken tea set. She didn't pull away as he gently blew on her damaged skin and she almost welcomed the tingling feeling that spread across her skin as her bruise and cuts vanished. She gave him her other hand to heal and watched his face as he focused his magic on mending, rather than destroying.

His golden eyes met hers and she could only see regret, and something else… longing?

He pulled her close, cradling her face against his chest. "I'm so sorry, Belle," he whispered into her hair. She could hear his voice catch and his body tremble slightly as he held her even closer.

"I'm so, so sorry."


	5. Making Amends: Part One

She had fallen asleep in his arms that night. He had held her tightly as sobs had racked through her body, making her tremble in his lap. He had tried to contain his gold-tinged tears as they disappeared into her auburn locks. He didn't know how long they had sat there; him merely holding her and her merely releasing her hatred of him.

For he knew what he had done was unforgivable, inexcusable. He had shattered her, and no matter how hard or how many times he tried to glue the pieces back together, she would never be truly fixed. Darkness had broken her.

He saw it in her eyes and felt it on her skin; her hatred and fear of him. Even though she let him hold her, he could still feel it emanate from her. Although he now was clutching her sleeping form, she didn't feel safe around him. And maybe she wasn't safe with him. Maybe he should let her leave. She probably wouldn't even look back as she practically ran from his castle.

But the thought of never seeing her again, the thought of knowing that he had scared her away because he had let himself succumb to The Dark One's desires, seemed in that moment unbearable. It sickened him that both he and The Dark One didn't want her to leave.

He had waited a while longer before he had laid her down on her bed. He had removed her duvet with a flick of his wrist, and gently positioned her head on her pillows. He had carefully pulled off her shoes and tucked her in, pulling the duvet up to her chin.

With her eyes closed, he could almost pretend she harbored no resentment towards him, that his actions had been erased, her mind pure and untainted. But it would only remain just that: pretend.

The crease she had had between her eyebrows for the past few weeks had disappeared, and her mouth was almost hinting at a smile. He could almost delude himself into thinking that she was dreaming of him. Almost.

The Dark One whispered at the edges of his mind, edging him to reach out and touch her.  _Only one touch… Just a ghost of a touch across her cheek…_

It had taken all his self-control to smother The Dark One's desires, his hands clenching into fists with the effort. But he had managed it.

And with the knowledge that he could ignore The Beast if he really tried, he vowed that he would never listen to The Dark One's desires again. He made a promise to protect Belle from the evil in the world, and anything or anyone that threatened to harm her. But most importantly, he promised to protect her from himself.

* * *

She didn't leave her room the next morning. He expected she didn't want to see him, which he could understand. Nevertheless, he missed her presence at the breakfast table; his thoughts always finding their way back to her, wondering if she was alright. Was she upstairs sobbing into her pillow, or was she merely having a lie in?

He forced himself not to check on her, convincing himself that she wanted to be left alone.

He knew the feeling of being trapped and separated from the ones you love. He knew it all too well. And he couldn't ignore the small knot in his stomach at the realization that Belle had not been outside the castle walls since he had first brought her here. She had done nothing but gaze at the world through thick stone walls and transparent, teasing glass.

Something had to be done, and it didn't take long before the thought occurred to him. He knew what he needed to do, and he didn't hesitate as he walked with determined steps to his study.

It wasn't really a study. It was more a room where he kept his potions and spell books. It was a spacious room, the walls curving to form a circle. Where there weren't windows were bookshelves, specially crafted to follow the curve of the walls. There was a spinning wheel in this room as well, placed idly in a corner. He had a large table in the center where papers, tubes, glasses and jars lay scattered across its surface. Behind the table was a cabinet containing numerous glass jars, containing emotions and human qualities. He had a bottle for wrath, innocence, hatred, peace, sincerity, cleverness and death, as well as some jars containing rare ingredients he wanted to keep safe.

The only emotion he had failed to bottle was love. Love was one of the rarest ingredients in the world of magic, and any books containing the secrets on how to obtain this ingredient had been destroyed. Love was a powerful and dangerous thing. With bottled love, one could do anything.

Love would have made the spell he was attempting a lot easier to create, but he would just have to work around it. It would require more effort, but it would all be worth it just to see her smile.

He searched his many bookshelves and discovered the book he needed. He slammed it down on his worktable and began finding the required ingredients.

 _Some botanical roots… peace… a dash of sunshine… soil from a grave… the feather of a raven…_ Since he didn't have 'love', he had to replace it with a rose petal, 'sincerity', a drop of virgin-blood and a leaf from a holly. It wasn't accurate, but it would have to do.

Mixing the ingredients into a pot and stirring was an easy task, something anyone can do. Without magic it was just a pot of nothing.

Magic was the key here. And what made his task even more difficult was the fact that he had the wrong kind of magic. The magic he needed was "good magic", the kind that saved people and granted wishes. The only magic he possessed was the kind that bruised skin and broke hearts.

So he planted his feet on the floor slightly apart, as if he was bracing himself, closed his eyes and concentrated. He was searching inside his soul, The Dark One's soul, in search of a weak point that could be bent to do as he wished.

It didn't take long for The Dark One to appear, as he sensed what Rumpel was up to.

" _Poor Rum, fighting against his own instincts…"_ The Beast chuckled as Rumpelstiltskin tried his best to ignore him. He couldn't stop now, he had only barely begun.

" _Do you really think you can use me to please your little lass?"_

The Dark One was amused at his efforts, as he desperately clawed at the edges of his being, hoping to find a part that would cave and mould itself to his wishes; a part that possessed enough courage to defy The Dark One.

His brow furrowed with the strain, but eventually he found a tiny fragment, practically quivering with uncertainty. The Dark One noticed that Rumpel had the upper hand, and flared with anger, trying to suppress his slave.

" _This won't make her happy,"_ The Dark One said confidently.  _"I think we both know what she_ really  _wants."_

The Dark One was a cruel being, and didn't hesitate in manipulating Rumpel's mind, showing him the monster he could turn him into.

Images of Belle writhing beneath him, gasping in pleasure and pain, flashed behind his eyelids. Her eyes were dark, almost black, as she begged him to go harder… faster… And he didn't hesitate as he bit her throat, shackled her wrists and defiled her to the point of no return, stripping her of her innocence and integrity.

The Dark One snickered as Rumpel recoiled from the images, trying desperately and futilely to suppress them. This wasn't his Belle, he knew that, and this  _was not_ him. He preferred the innocent young woman who shared his meals and he had comforted not too many hours ago. This Belle, and this version of himself, frightened him and The Dark One knew it.

Belle suddenly screamed, whether it was in ecstasy or pain, Rumpel couldn't tell, causing his heart to pound erratically. The name on her lips wasn't his. It was The Dark One she was calling out for. It was he she was begging to for release.

Nonetheless, Rum suddenly felt his feet shift as he strode towards the door, desire and disgusting lust rushing through his veins. He felt his control slowly slipping, and no matter how hard he clawed and tried to restrain himself, he couldn't suppress The Beast's desires. He would have her, even if he had to take her by force.

The Dark One chanted his consent as Rum laid his hand on the doorknob, his skin itching to touch hers, his mind hazy, her screams still echoing through him.

He paused with the door ajar, his hand still clutching the knob, waiting for his mind to clear. It took him a few moments to realize his feelings weren't his. They were The Dark One's. He jumped back from the door as if it had bit him, slamming it shut with a kick. He continued distancing himself from the door until he knocked into a bookshelf, horrified with the knowledge that he had been close to hurting Belle again. Too close.

He had to learn to control The Dark One. It was his body, and he needed to reclaim his mind. The thought of The Dark One ever laying a hand on Belle again was out of the question.

"You will never touch her again," he snarled. The Dark One merely snickered at his obvious affection.

" _You cannot hide your desires from me, coward. I know exactly what you lust for."_

And with that The Dark One vanished, leaving only Rumpelsiltskin the spinner standing in his study, sweat dripping down his neck, trying to catch his breath.

The Dark One had now planted a seed of doubt that threatened to consume him. He was terrified of not being able to suppress the Beast within. He didn't want her to leave him, not yet. He had to keep fighting for her. He had to keep protecting her and making her smile.

So it took all his efforts to stand before his work table, trying to find the weak spot again. It took a while, as The Dark One had rearranged himself and moved the spot, but he eventually found it.

He crafted it into something beautiful, something worthy of her time.

By the time he had finished molding and shaping it he was exhausted. It took extra energy to convert dark magic into light. But he knew it would all be worth it, just to see the look on her face.

After he had double-checked everything; every corner and layer of the spell, he sent it flying, knowing it would find its destination and purpose.

* * *

She had been pacing around her room all day. She had woken early in the morning, puzzled at the fact that she was fully dressed. It had taken a few minutes before fragments of the previous night became clearer.

It must have been a dream. The thought of Rumpelstiltskin actually comforting her and  _apologizing_ seemed absurd. But his touch still seemed so real, his heartbeat still ringing in her ears. She couldn't have dreamt that up on her own.

However, the thought of leaving her room and potentially meeting him wasn't appealing. She wanted to postpone that awkward encounter for as long as possible. It wasn't that she was nervous, or that the thought of seeing him again made her stomach flip. She just didn't know how she felt anymore.

She couldn't possibly forgive him. Never. He had practically tortured her. What kind of message was that?  _I know you hurt me, both physically and mentally, but as long as you say sorry afterward, I guess it's ok._ It wasn't okay. She would never be okay.

She rubbed her wrists nervously, prodding the healing bruises. Her brows furrowed in confusion when the familiar, dull ache that usually bloomed at her touch didn't appear. She looked down to find her wrists completely unblemished.

She then remembered his soft touch when he had healed her, the way he had gently held her wrist, as if he was afraid he would break her with even the slightest touch. He had erased all signs of his outburst, his evil doing. As if nothing had ever happened.

But something had happened, and there was no use in denying it, and there was no use in trying to forget it.

Maybe, years and years from now, she would see him in a slightly different light. She may even see the man he could be if he only tried. But now, with the knowledge that his soul was tainted with ruthless and unrelenting darkness, she wasn't sure who he was anymore.

Even though her mind was set on never leaving her bedroom again, her stomach disagreed, and after a couple of hours, a dull ache of emptiness started to build within her. Her stomach growled as she contemplated how quickly she could make it to the kitchen pantry and back to her bedroom. She imagined all the corners and passageways she could hide in if she was so unfortunate as to stumble upon him. Maybe she could even sneak out the window…

No! She would not resort to risking her life just to avoid meeting him. It was her home too, and she had every right to come and go as she pleased without even acknowledging his presence.

So it was with newfound bravery and her "I-don't-give-damn-facial-expression" in place, that she left her room and tried her best to saunter down the marble stairs and into the dining room.

He wasn't waiting at the door like an obedient dog, eager to please and obey. He didn't dart to her side and grovel at her feet, excusing his bad behavior and begging for her forgiveness. He didn't blatantly ignore her when she entered the room.

He was sitting by his spinning wheel, his gold eyes distant and lost in thought. His skin sparkled slightly, the setting sun streaming in from the bare windows and caressing his face. He seemed to snap out of his reverie when he sensed her presence. His eyes seemed to brighten at the sight of her, his mouth slightly open, making him seem almost awestruck.

He had stopped spinning, and his hands were still raised midair, holding the piece of straw. She merely stood in the doorway, set on not being the first one to break the tangible silence.

Many moments passed before he seemed to gather the courage to speak. "Hello," he said softly, hesitantly.

"Hello," she replied, her voice sounding stronger and more assured than his. She even nodded her head in acknowledgment. And she who had sworn to ignore him…

Another minute passed before she spoke again. "I'm hungry," she declared, as she strode with confident steps towards the kitchen.

He came to his feet as she turned to leave, fumbling to get past his spinning wheel. "I can make-"

"No need," she interrupted him coldly, sharply. The last thing she wanted was to owe him any favors. One never wanted to be indebted to a beast.

The kitchen door slammed behind her, the load bang making her cringe. But she didn't want to see him, not yet. The mess she had made of broken china had been cleared away, erased, much like her bruises. The only proof that it had ever happened was the cup with a small chip in its rim, which had been placed in the cupboard along with the other unbroken cups. Why he had chosen to keep it was beyond her.

She was in no mood to cook, so she just grabbed a loaf of bread from the pantry and some rhubarb jam. Just like her father had made her for breakfast when rhubarb was in season.

The thought of her father dimmed the hunger in her stomach, replacing it with another kind of emptiness; the kind that a full stomach couldn't cure.

She didn't feel like enduring any more of the silence that blossomed when she was in the same room as Rumpel, so she settled for sitting on the kitchen counter, the loaf of bread in hand and the jar of jam next to her. She dangled her feet as she chewed, watching the golden evening sunlight kiss the stone walls.

It wasn't until she had finished half the loaf that Rumpel appeared in the doorway, his fingers fiddling with a piece of straw. He eyed the half-eaten loaf in her hand, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

"When you're done with  _dinner_ , there's something I'd like to show you."

Scenarios of her blindly following him and ending up locked in the dungeon filled her mind, and a slight tinge of paranoia tainted her heart.

She raised an eyebrow, being the very personification of skepticism. "Why?"

He chuckled at her cautious expression, though she could see the light in his eyes dim slightly at her lack of trust. Could he really blame her? "It's a surprise. A gift."

She didn't want any gifts. She just wanted to be left alone. She didn't want to owe him anything. She simply wanted to go home. She wanted to forget that she had ever met him.

"I don't want your gifts," she said simply. She fixed her gaze on the floor, not wanting to see what her words were doing to him.

She may have imagined he would sound hurt, his voice hesitant and maybe even on the verge of cracking, but he just sounded like his usual, giddy self.

"Oh, I think you'll want this gift." She couldn't help but look up at the sound of his almost arrogant tone.

"What do you want in return?" she asked, setting the bread aside.

"That's the wonderful thing about gifts, dearie. Nothing is required in return." He sounded like the first time she had met him. Just an imp looking for a bargain.

The playful look left his face, his whole body suddenly stiff with seriousness. "And consider it my first step towards making amends." He fiddled with that goddamn piece of straw between his fingers. He was obviously nervous. It was odd seeing such a powerful man doubt himself.

It may have been her wishful-thinking, or being almost too naïve for her own good, but she thought she could almost glimpse sincerity in his words. Was he really trying to make it up to her? Did he really seek her forgiveness?

She was pretty convinced she could never give him what he wanted, but she could at least give him an opportunity to try. She could at least let him try to convince her why he was worthy of her time, friendship, and maybe even her forgiveness.

She jumped down from the counter and straightened her dress. "Fine. Hand it over then." She held out her hands.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me," he said, offering his hand out to her. She considered staying put, demanding that he bring the gift to her, but it seemed childish. So it was with hesitant steps that she walked to his side. She merely stared at his outstretched hand, not quite willing to touch him. Not quite willing to let him touch her.

He understood her wish and let his hand drop to his side before he gestured for her to follow him through The Dark Castle.

* * *

"Now, close your eyes."

He had led them through the Dark Castle, guiding her through many turns and corridors, and she sensed they were buried somewhere in the very heart of this rather large estate. They now stood before an old wooden door, which seemed out of place in this rather sophisticated home, consisting of dirty, worn planks hastily assembled together. She could even feel a slight draft seep through them.

Draft?

She didn't close her eyes. She simply stayed put and crossed her arms over her chest, not wishing to let him out of her sight.

"I won't show you until you close them," he warned.

She sighed at his persistence and reluctantly closed her eyes. Not tightly, just enough so she couldn't see what was directly in front of her.

She could sense that he waved his hands in front of her eyes to make sure she wasn't looking. She didn't flinch or pull away. She sensed him opening the door, while he told her to watch her step. She walked with her hands in front of her, searching for obstacles. She lost her balance at the threshold and shut her eyes tight as she expected to land flat on her face. She felt him grab her elbow and steady her before withdrawing his touch from her skin. She mumbled a 'thank you', while continuing to fumble her way down a path. She heard her steps echo off the ground beneath her. It wasn't the kind of echo one would hear while walking in an abandoned ballroom, but more the sound of feet hitting stone.

Stone?

The air around her suddenly seemed fresher, livelier and warmer. The usual dampness and stuffiness she had lived with for months had disappeared, and when she felt a warm breeze brush the tendrils of her hair, there was no doubt where she was. She was outside.

The heavy presence of The Dark Castle seemed to shed from her soul as she felt herself walking away from its stone walls. She was so excited she could barely contain herself. "Can I look now?"

She jumped slightly when she felt his voice right behind her, his breath touching her hair. "Now."

Her mouth fell open in astonishment.

It was the most beautiful garden she had ever seen. It seemed to stretch out for miles and miles, never ending. He had led her to the edge of it and she faced a graveled path leading to what seemed to be the very heart of the garden: a gazebo made of white marble with ivy crawling up its beams and covering the roof. She spotted the tea set she had dropped on the floor placed on a table in the center.

Above the graveled path were several archways, all entwined with the most exquisite flowers she had ever seen. Some she had never laid eyes on before, but some she could identify, like fuchsia and even simple daisies could be found amidst the jungle of beauty.

But the garden didn't end at the gazebo. It seemed to stretch beyond that, beautiful oak trees penetrating the horizon. If she listened hard enough she thought she could even hear the trickling of a stream.

On either side of the spectacular archways were roses; thousands and thousands of roses, their color a mixture of deep-red and pink. Now that she noticed them, the fragrant smell of them surrounded her and seeped into her pores as she took a deep breath of clean air. The first breath of fresh air she had breathed since she had first arrived here. The memories of her endless nights in the dungeon seemed like another life as she stood before what seemed like an endless supply of freedom.

But she knew it wasn't really freedom. She was still under Rumpelstiltskin's control, still under his watchful eye. She would never truly be rid of him, just as she wouldn't truly be rid of the things he had done to her.

But she knew he was trying. This beautiful place couldn't have existed before she arrived. She knew that he had created this for her. And for that she was grateful, truly grateful. He had done a good deed, something she knew was against his nature, and for that he deserved recognition, perhaps even a word of kindness.

"Thank you," she said softly, not wishing to break the peaceful stillness she now felt.

"Figured you could so with some fresh air," he said nonchalantly. He grinned at her, and she could see the tiny spark in his eyes that had died in the kitchen, return.

"Can I just…" she gestured awkwardly to the wonderland behind her. Even though it was technically her garden, she felt like she still needed to ask his permission.

"By all means, dearie." He gestured flamboyantly for her to explore all she wanted. He said he would leave her to it while he went back inside for a nap.

She stroked the roses as she walked past them, ran her fingers over the marble and took off her shoes to marvel in the feeling of warm grass against her bare feet. She made her way into the woods behind the gazebo, wanting to find the stream she had heard.

The sun warmed her pale skin and she tilted her face to the rays as she practically skipped between the trees. She could no longer see The Dark Castle, and could almost pretend that it didn't exist. Almost.

She eventually found the stream. It was situated by a small pond, rimmed by a grassy bank and with lily pads floated on the surface. She sat down by the edge, sticking her feet into the cool water and lay on her back looking up at the sky. She heard birds twittering in the distance and closed her eyes to let herself be lulled to a peaceful and dreamless sleep, the first one she had had in weeks, to the sound of trickling water and wind caressing oak trees.

Behind closed eyes she couldn't see the man with the golden skin standing by a window in his tower, watching her embrace the freedom he had so willingly given her.


	6. A Soothing Touch

She stayed out for the rest of the day, not even coming in for a bite to eat. He didn't want to strip her of her newly found happiness, even if it meant him dining alone. So he finished the loaf of bread she had been eating and resigned himself to wondering idly around his castle.

The memory of her smile and the way her azure eyes had suddenly flared to life at the sight of some freedom, a chance to get away from him for a while, made his heart ache ever so slightly. It hurt him that she resented spending time with him, that she so desperately desired his absence. But, however much it hurt him, he understood why.

Yet he couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at his lips, knowing that it was  _his_  kind gesture that had made her smile.  _He_  was the one who had brought some happiness into her life, and it only seemed fair, considering he had been the one who had stripped her of it in the first place.

For he knew he was the cause of her sorrow. And his most rational thoughts, however small and rare they were, whispered that the right thing to do would be to let her go.

The part of him that was still the cowardly spinner knew that he had had no right to take her from her home, force her into this dark and dreary estate and expect her to be happy. With him. It had been inhumane of him to steal her from her father, almost beastly. He didn't deserve her.

He couldn't even remember why he had wanted her to come with him in the first place. Perhaps it was the loving manner in which she cared for her father. Perhaps it was her looks. Even though he was The Dark One, he was still a man, and he had to admit that she was captivating. Or perhaps it was just because he was lonely.

He had stopped counting the years since he had lost the only precious thing he had ever known. It is said that "time heals all wounds", but his wound still felt open, gaping and bloody. Even after all this time, it hadn't healed. If anything it had become infected around the edges, and had started to ooze loneliness and desperation. And no matter how many times he tried to forget, or how many times The Dark One tried to contaminate his mind with darker, yet somehow more appealing thoughts, his emptiness still remained. No amount of darkness could restore what love and good intentions had destroyed.

A sound of harmonious laughter intruded his train of thought, causing him to stop and look around, searching for the owner of the melodious voice. The voice seemed to ring inside his head, muffled by distance. The lovely voice sighed in content and started humming softly.

Even though he had not had the pleasure of hearing her laugh, he had no doubt as to who was expressing these sounds of joy.

He closed his eyes in concentration and a picture of the garden he had created formed in his mind. Because the entire place had been woven by his magic, he could manipulate it anyway he wanted. He had created little loopholes in the spell, making it possible for him to peek through the magical layers and see what sights were unfolding within.

There she was; twirling and laughing as she gazed towards the sky, which had now turned into a velvet of darkness from the approaching twilight. Nightingales flittered around her, grazing her auburn curls. They seemed to be singing in harmony with her. Her cheeks were tinged a rosy pink from the fresh air, her smile a show of contentment and bliss. She had removed her shoes and let her toes bury themselves in the soft grass. It was truly a breathtaking sight to behold.

He couldn't help but swell with pride knowing that he had made her so happy. He had actually made her smile. But he knew that it was only her temporary freedom that made her smile so brilliantly. He manipulated the magic slightly, tugging the clouds aside, letting the moon illuminate her surroundings and the stars paint her pictures across the night sky.

She seemed to notice the magic shift and turned to simply gaze at the moon in wonder. The nightingales had stopped singing, letting the peaceful silence wash over her. She stood with her hands behind her back, never taking her eyes off the wonder he had created for her.

She seemed to realize that such a beautiful sight had not showed itself by accident, and he could have sworn he heard her whisper ever so softly, "Thank you, Rumpel."

The moonlight drained her of color, her eyes taking on a grey hue, her face sharply contoured as shadows danced across her features. And just when he thought she couldn't be more beautiful…

She belonged outside his castle walls. She didn't belong on her hands and knees scrubbing his floors or laundering his clothes. She deserved to experience the world; to discover and see everything there was to see. She deserved to watch every sunset and every full moon. She deserved the world and there was no way she could get what she deserved when she was stuck with him, feeling like nothing more than a worthless and helpless prisoner.

The rest of the world had the right to be graced with her presence and kindness. He, on the other hand, did not.

He felt The Dark One flicker in the back of his mind, but he didn't show himself or voice his opinion. He hadn't even objected to Rumpel's tender and insecure thoughts. Maybe The Dark One had had enough of toying with him and Belle. The thought of having to watch her leave made his stomach ache with sorrow, but he knew it was for the best. She could never be happy here, and a garden certainly wouldn't make up for the life she had lost.

So it was with a dreary soul that Rumpelstiltskin decided it was time to do what was right, as opposed to what suited him best.

He didn't notice that she had left the full moon and stars behind when he wasn't looking, and he froze at the sound of her footsteps making their way through the kitchen. She appeared at the doorway to the dining room, her hand carrying her shoes, leaning against the doorframe. Her hair was wild and several tendrils had escaped the half up-do she had had earlier. Her skin glowed and her eyes buzzed with excitement, though he could see she was fairly worn out. Her feet were tinged with grass stains and she was still smiling. Even when she stood before him, re-entering her prison, she smiled.

All thoughts of releasing her, of sending her home to her family, had vanished. All the rational thoughts and conclusions he had had only a few moments ago seemed to have never existed. All he saw was she, and the only truth he was willing to embrace, was that he never wanted her to leave.

He remained silent, not wishing to say anything that would cause her smile to vanish. Of course she was the first to speak. She was, after all, the brave one.

"It's really beautiful out there," she said, gesturing behind her. She carefully stepped over the threshold and made her way to where he was standing.

He couldn't help but smile at her willingness to approach him. "I'm glad you like it."

They now only stood a few feet apart. She was shorter without her shoes on and she gazed up at him, her back straight and head cocked slightly. "I really appreciate it, that you made that for me."

He knew she liked it, but it still felt good to hear her say it. It was a confirmation of sorts, that she didn't completely despise him.

"Anything for you, dear." It had meant to be a joke, but the playful tone he had planned to voice disappeared as the words left his lips. It sounded too sincere, too serious. But maybe that's what he actually felt. Maybe he  _would_  do anything for her. But she didn't need to know that.

Her smile faltered slightly at his all too revealing words, but she didn't say anything.

The silence seemed never-ending, but he would have welcomed it with open arms, if it had meant that he would be free of The Dark One's menacing voice, which begun whispering in his head.

_God…so close…_

Rum was horrified to hear The Dark One's voice dripping with lust. She  _was_ too close. He had to distance himself from her. How else was he supposed to keep her safe?

He felt The Dark One's control seep through his muscles, and he could do nothing but comply as The Dark One closed the little space that was between them. Their chests were almost touching and she was looking up at him, surprised and caught off guard.

"Belle…" he heard himself speak. But it didn't sound like his voice in his ears. His voice sounded guttural, filled with the animalistic desire The Dark One possessed for Belle. He felt his mind grow darker, his thoughts all tinged with evil and cruelty. It was happening again. He couldn't let it happen again. Not to her.

His brow furrowed as his eyes pled for her to leave, their gold trying desperately to say what his lips couldn't.

She seemed to notice the change within him. Whether she understood it, feared him or merely felt sorry for him, he did not know, but he did not see a trace of fear in her eyes as she raised her hand to touch his cheek.

The feel of her skin on his seemed to silence The Dark One, as if all he had wanted was for her to touch him. For now all The Dark One desired was the caring and concerned Belle to touch him delicately. The Dark One coaxed Rum's face to lean into her touch, before releasing his control and retreating to the back of Rum's mind, where he would wait in silence until another intimate moment arose.

She felt him relax and traced her thumb across his cheekbone, willing to soothe him with just the touch of her hand.

The sensation of her touching him was suddenly very real. Now that he had regained his mind and was not fighting for control, he could truly appreciate what was happening.

And it was with no trace of fear or uncertainty that he raised his hand to hold hers, gently holding her wrist, his thumb mirroring her soothing traces on his cheek.

She smiled delicately at his gesture. "All better?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, smiling back at her. "All better."

All too soon did she remove her hand and bid him goodnight.

She turned when she reached the door to the hallway, glancing over her shoulder as she spoke. "Maybe you could join me, someday. In the garden."

It wasn't a question, but she still sounded uncertain, as if she was giving him the chance to refuse. As if he had the right to refuse her. He didn't have the right, and if he was being completely honest, he had no desire to do so.

"I would be glad to," he replied.

She smiled one more time before leaving and retreating to her bedroom.

He stared after her until he heard her bedroom door close. Only then did he fully relax; his heart practically weightless and his cheek still tingling from her touch. At least now he knew for certain.

Although he had wanted to do the noble thing, and perhaps still be able to save her from an unhappy life with him, he now knew that there was no way he could let her go, not even if she had asked him.

The Dark One merely snickered at his victim's most unfortunate predicament.

* * *

The weeks passed and for the first time since Belle had arrived at The Dark Castle she felt almost a little content with her life. Her chores merely consisted of dusting, keeping the dining room and kitchen somewhat tidy, occasionally washing the floors and cooking. She no longer bruised her knees and made the skin across her knuckles bleed from scrubbing the marble stairs, and she had not set foot in the dungeon since.

Usually he would let her skip a chore or two so she could spend time in her garden. It was her safe haven, and most days it was the only beauty she got to see. He had supplied multiple garden tools and she could spend hours tending to the roses or sitting by the pond deep within the garden.

One time she had brought a book with her and had been so deeply engrossed that she had forgotten The Dark Castle even existed. She had jumped when someone had tapped her on the shoulder, and she had turned to see Rumpel standing with a tray in hand, carrying a small meal consisting of a stew of some sort. He had conjured up a blanket for them to sit on and fine wine to sip while they shared the meal together.

She remembered how he had looked in her garden; surrounded by the beauty he had given her. He looked so at ease, almost human… She had appreciated that he hadn't removed her from her sanctuary, but instead made the effort to join her.

Since then they had often ventured out to the pond or the gazebo to share a small meal or a cup of tea, during which she would read to him or they would simply talk. Their conversations were purely superficial, neither one wanting to ruin the moment and venture into talk of dark pasts and ruined lives. They both wanted to get to know the other, but only the safe aspects. They did not want to pry so deep that they couldn't find their way back to the surface.

They now sat by the pond, talking of frivolous things.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked, her fingers trailing idly across the pond's surface.

"Purple."

"Why?" she asked, wanting to know as much about him as she could.

He paused for a moment. "Because purple is a color of power. It symbolizes mystery and magic."

"How very fitting," she commented. "Last time I checked it was also a color of royalty."

He plucked a strand of grass and twirled it between his fingers. "Well, if the shoe fits…" His crooked smile was infectious and she couldn't help but return the smile.

"I would hardly call you royalty," she teased, shifting to lie on the blanket beside him, her hands behind her head as she gazed up at the afternoon sky.

"Oh, I don't know, dearie…" He lay down on the blanket beside her, their bodies almost touching. "I'd say these leather pants make me look very regal."

She laughed, reveling in his carefree behavior. She liked him like this; playful and happy. It was in moments like these that she knew he was not a monster. He had goodness inside him, and he too was capable of being funny, caring and honest. It was in moments like these that she wondered if maybe he was even capable of love.

"I like you like this," she said softly.

He stopped chuckling and turned his head to look at her, his brows furrowed in slight confusion. "What do you mean?"

She turned to meet his gaze. His golden eyes shone in the afternoon light and his skin no longer harbored a sickly hue, but instead seemed to shimmer slightly in the glorious daylight he deprived himself of in The Dark Castle. Some might even have described him as beautiful.

"I like it when you laugh and smile. It makes you seem like a completely different person."

He smiled wistfully at her words, turning to gaze up at the sky. "I haven't got much to laugh and smile about these days." His voice, which had been so cheerful only a few moments ago, was now covered with what seemed like a sadness that had gnawed at his soul for several centuries. It was enough to break any fragile heart.

Clouds started to drift over their heads, blocking the sunlight and its comfortable warmth. Belle shivered as a cold wind ghosted over her skin, but with a flick of Rumpel's wrist the clouds retreated and the sun was glowing overhead once again, the sky now a brilliant blue.

"How do you do that?" she asked, in awe of the actual power he possessed.

He chuckled at her obvious amazement. "I can't usually control the weather. It's only because I have created this space with my own magic that I can manipulate it any way I like."

"But then why have clouds at all? Why not have sunshine all the time?" That's what she would've done if she had a small speck of magic. She hated lack of sunlight.

"I cannot constantly keep the weather in order. It would be exhausting. The use of magic drains you," he explained as he casually watched a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter over their heads, probably of his own creation.

The subject of magic intrigued her, not only because it was one of the many sides of Rumpelstiltskin, but also because she had been fascinated by it ever since she was a child.

"How does magic work, anyway?" she asked, looking at his profile as he watched the sky. He seemed intent on avoiding her gaze.

"It's very complicated, dear," he replied simply. He made it seem like magic was a touchy subject. Why?

"Try me," she pressed, not willing to give up so easily.

He sighed in defeat. "I suppose you could say everyone has a small bit of magic inside them. Some have more than others and know how to tap into this magic, while others remain oblivious to the fact they harbor any magical qualities at all."

She couldn't help but feel slightly ripped off and looked at him skeptically, feeling like he wasn't telling her the whole truth. "So that's your explanation? Some have magic and know how to use it and some don't?"

He glanced at her and chuckled at her obvious annoyance. "Exactly, dear."

"That doesn't sound very complicated," she muttered.

"My magic is more than that," he assured her.

"Well, what is it then?" she pressed.

He sighed again and turned to look at her. She refused to meet his eyes, but she sensed his gaze and couldn't help but sneak a glance. It may have just been her imagination, but he looked almost torn, as if he was debating whether or not he should tell her something, and she could almost sense his inner conflict.

He lifted his fingers to gently touch a tendril of her auburn hair that was splayed out on the blanket between them.

She held her breath as she watched him finger her hair gently, as if it was something fragile he could break if he wasn't careful.

"Maybe I'll tell you some other time," he whispered, his voice suddenly husky.

She was so entranced by his sudden brave and loving demeanor that she let the conversation drop. Someday he would tell her everything. Someday he would open up fully to her, and she to him. One day they would know all of each other's secrets. For now 'someday' was enough.

She pulled out one of her hands from behind her head and gently brushed her fingertips against his. His fingers stilled and he looked up at her, uncertainty plain across his face.

She didn't say anything to reassure him. She simply smiled at him, not moving to hold his hand. They both settled for the touch of fingertips. It was intimate enough, for now. She noticed how his calloused fingers felt against hers as their fingers constantly fluttered together and apart, never quite joining and never quite separating.

She watched him close his eyes and she did the same, letting the feel of his fingers and the sun overhead lull her to sleep.

* * *

Even amidst these moments of relaxing bliss, Belle's curiosity wouldn't leave her alone. Despite the fact that the past few weeks had passed smoothly, she could hardly forget the mysterious dagger. She hadn't mentioned anything to Rum, for fear of his reaction. He hadn't exactly kept his cool when she had found it.

Her curiosity had turned into a dangerous thing, and had driven her to the locked door at the end of the hallway many times. Usually she would turn back without touching the knob or peeking through the keyhole, but one time, in a rush of bravery and recklessness, she had opened the door and found the room to be completely empty. The dagger no longer hung on the wall. Even the hooks that it had hung from had disappeared. There wasn't even a mark on the wall that proved the dagger had ever been there in the first place.

He had moved it. He obviously didn't trust her to leave it alone. He knew her all too well.

The dagger must be important to him, considering that he had now hid it from her, as if she were a child who might break it if she touched it.

Perhaps she should have let it all go, forget that she ever found the dagger in the first place. But she took him hiding the dagger as a challenge, a challenge she gladly accepted.

He hadn't been the monster from the dungeon in a long time. Perhaps he would calmly explain what the dagger was if she asked nicely, approached the subject with some caution.

She closed the door behind her and practically sauntered down the marble stairs, confident that tonight she would get the answers she desired.

* * *

This dangerous bravery stayed with her the rest of the evening. She had purposefully made Rum's favorite meal for dinner, in an attempt to prolong his good mood long enough for her to ask about the dagger.

Dinner had gone swimmingly. He had asked for seconds and she had simply smiled as she had refilled his plate.

He now sat casually in his chair, a satisfied grin on his face, his plate scraped clean on the table in front of him. She made no move to gather the dirty dishes, but instead leaned back in her chair, intent on keeping them both seated for as long as possible.

"More wine?" she offered, noticing that his glass was more than half empty. As she was getting up to pour the wine, he held up his hand, indicating for her to stay in her seat.

"No worries, dear." He didn't break eye contact as he made the wine bottle drift over to his side with a flourish of his fingers. The bottle filled his glass of its own accord before drifting back to resume its place on the table.

"Are you going to tell me how you do that?" she asked. Now was as good a time as any to bring up the subject of magic.

"I thought I already told you," he said with an impish smile, swirling the wine around in his glass.

"Yes, but you didn't tell me everything. You said there was more to your magic," she quoted.

"Did I now?" He sipped his wine.

He was dodging the subject. There was no way he was going to tell her anything unless she asked him outright.

"Has it got anything to do with that dagger of yours?" She watched him carefully as her words registered, and she suppressed a laugh as he sputtered into his wine.

He looked up at her, eyes narrowing and his mouth pulled into a tight line. His eyes blazed; the darkness that sometimes controlled him almost consuming him. She could see that he was fighting for control, but she knew she had to be more careful, frightened that he would lose his inner power struggle. They both remembered what had happened the last he had lost the battle against the darkness inside him.

He put his wine glass on the table and moved his hands to rest on the arms of his chair. "What makes you think that?" His voice was clipped, strained. She noticed how his hands gripped the chair, shaking with the effort of restraining himself and whatever lurked inside him. She regretted ever raising the subject. But it was too late to turn back now.

"You guard that thing as if your life depended on it," she stated, trying not to let her fear seep into her voice.

"It does…" he murmured as he stared blankly into space, seeming lost in thought or painful memories.

This intrigued her, dimming the doubt she felt for asking him about it. She had known it was important to him, but how could  _a knife_ be  _that_ important?

"What do you mean?" she prompted. He obviously wasn't going to elaborate without some encouragement.

"That dagger is the key to my demise, dearie. My very own wretched curse. Let's leave it at that."

Curse? Rumpelstiltskin was cursed?

His voice had taken on a venomous tone and his posture seemed to have become more animalistic. He was no longer the kind man she had spent the past few weeks with. She was playing with fire, tempting fate and testing his control.

"So without that dagger, you die?" Now she partially understood the situation from his point of view. She, too, wouldn't want people carelessly messing with what could lead to her death.

"More like a loss of free will," he said through gritted teeth.

So whoever had the dagger controlled him. What an advantage! She shivered at the thought of someone truly evil using Rumpel as a weapon, using his magic to induce fear and suffering. How awful, especially now that she knew his magic was capable of good. Like her garden…

"So that's why you mov-" she said to herself, her voice almost inaudible to her own ears. But, somehow, he had heard her words.

"What was that?" His voice had turned guttural, practically dripping with anger. She looked up to see that his eyes had lost their gold completely, now only black orbs; the symbol of his lack of control.

"I-" she began, desperately fumbling for the words that would soothe his outrage. But he cut her off.

"Have you been looking for it again?" He slammed his fist on the table so hard she could feel her end of the table vibrate with the force.

She grabbed the arms of her chair in an attempt to anchor herself in place, preventing herself from fleeing in a state of panic. She locked eyes with him and set her jaw. She had to be brave… she had to be brave enough for the both of them.

"Looks like someone didn't learn their lesson." His words unnerved her, and she had to remind herself that it was no longer Rum who was speaking, but rather the dark presence that haunted his soul and craved sadistic pleasure. His black eyes glistened with a promise of pain and her brave demeanor faltered as he quickly stood up, causing his chair to topple over. He braced his palms against the table and leaned towards her.

She could see that he was fighting, hard. Sweat glistened across his brow with the strain and she could even hear him speaking to it.

"Please, stop…" His voice sounded so pained she almost felt sorry for him. She couldn't imagine the feeling of not having control over your own body, being pushed to do things against your will. It made her see him in a new light. He wasn't just a man of power; he was also broken and troubled. She wanted to save him, to spare him of his obvious suffering.

She didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she sighed in relief when she saw the gold return to his eyes. He had won. He was still the stronger of the two.

Without a word he left the table. He was afraid, maybe even more than she was.

Wishing to say something,  _anything_ , she said the first thing that came to mind.

"Don't you think I deserve some answers?" She spoke softly, but she knew he had heard her. He stopped in the doorway, his hand braced against the doorframe, head hung and his back to her.

"Yes, but not when I'm like this." He didn't turn to face her, but left the room in silence, closing the door behind him.

And all she could so was sit in this tangible silence and send silent prayers on behalf of the man she shared her home with, praying for him to stay strong and never let himself succumb to darkness.


	7. Black Hope

He sought refuge in his study, surrounded by his magic, in an attempt to calm himself.

" _Do you realize what you have done?"_

The Dark One's voice echoed through his mind, Rum's head ringing from his booming voice.

The Dark One was furious, for Rum had overcome him in his fight for control and had been able to withstand his dark desires. He had been overpowered, and now Belle knew of the curse. The first step to breaking a curse is the knowledge that one exists.

" _Do you think you can save your precious maid?"_ The Dark One snarled.  _"Do you really think you can protect her from_ me _?"_ The Dark One's fury drove shocks of agony through Rumpel's body. It felt like the blood in his veins was on fire, searing through his flesh and bone. He fell to his knees, gasping in pain. In the past, The Dark One had damaged his mind with images he would never be able to forget, but never had The Dark One harmed him physically. The Dark One could kill him if he so desired, though that wouldn't be in his best interest. Without Rumpel he had no body, no one to control, no mind to taint. He needed Rum alive.

Of course that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun.

The pain in Rum's body subsided and he let out a gush of breath in relief. His body was still plagued by a dull ache from The Dark One's attack, and his knees shook slightly, but he was able to get to his feet. He took this false mercy for granted and was caught of guard as he suddenly felt his body fly through the air and crash into one of his bookshelves, as if an invisible force had knocked him off his feet.

The force of the impact made his head spin and he tried to blink away the dark spots in his vision that threatened to bring about unconsciousness.

The Dark One snickered. "Poor, weak Rumpelstiltskin."

His voice was just as menacing as it had always been, but this time it seemed to echo within the room, as opposed to inside his head. He looked up to see The Dark One standing over him, his towering frame grinning cruelly down at him.

His form wasn't completely opaque, and Rum could make out the faint outlines of his spinning wheel behind him. He obviously wasn't strong enough to materialize fully without Rum's body.

He looked surprisingly young. His face was not plagued by the cruel hands of time, not a line or wrinkle denting his porcelain skin. Some might even have described him as handsome. He had a strong chin and high cheekbones. His eyes were black as the darkest of nights, making it impossible to distinguish where pupil ended and iris begun. His hair was jet black, a sharp contrast to his fair skin. To Rum's surprise, The Dark One was wearing his clothes; a simple white shirt with ruffles at the sleeves, his leather pants and boots. He couldn't help but notice, with a twinge of jealousy, that his clothing looked a lot better on The Dark One's muscular frame.

"You are nothing without me," The Dark One said, his arms crossed as he looked down at him.

Rumpel raised his hand to send him reeling, make his head explode, turn him into a snail,  _anything_ , but nothing happened. His brows furrowed in confusion and The Dark One laughed.

"Don't you see, Rumpelstiltskin?" The Dark One raised his hand, and in the blink of an eye Rum was dragged upwards from the broken bookshelf and pinned against the wall.

The Dark One moved with lightning speed and Rum gasped for air as he felt long fingers clamp around his throat. He tried to free himself of The Dark One's grasp, but it was no use. He really was powerless without him, nothing but the cowardly old man he had been all those centuries ago. It was this monster that had kept him alive all these years, had given him the control and magic he had abused countless times to get what he desired. And now he was paying the price. All magic came with a goddamn price…

"You are  _nothing_  without me, so why would you try to fight me, Rum?" He tightened his grip. "I am the stronger one. You can try all you like, but your Belle will never be safe."

He grinned maliciously, a sadistic glint in his eyes. He leaned in closer, their noses almost touching. Rumpel tried to press himself further into the wall, anything to escape his touch.

"You should let me have her, Rumpelstiltskin. You know you want the same things I do. Her  _pleasure_." He hissed the last word, sending chills down Rum's spine. He wasn't sure what he himself wanted. He wanted her happiness. And maybe, if he was completely honest, he may want her  _that_  way. But not like this. Not the way The Dark One wanted her. He knew The Dark One merely wanted her body, her gagged screams for mercy. Rum wanted her smile and kind words. He wanted her company, her acceptance.

The Dark One's voice grew fainter as Rumpel's vision blurred, darkness threatening to consume and kill him.

"And I  _will_  have her." He released Rumpel's throat from his iron grasp, letting his slave breathe freely once more.

"You cannot win, Rumpelstiltskin," The Dark One chided, a crooked smile gracing his handsome face.

As he uttered these words, The Dark One's almost-opaque form seemed to blur, as if Rum was looking at him through rippling water. He disappeared to nothing but a dark presence and Rum could feel him seep into his skin and regain the control he so desperately clung to.

He felt magic surge at his fingertips once more, a sign that The Dark One had once again claimed residence in his soul.

He let his bruised body sink to the floor, sitting amongst battered books, burying his face in his hands. Panic started to bloom in his chest, settling as an ache in his stomach.

_You cannot win._

He was helpless. He could fight all he wanted, fight till his body crumbled and turned to dust, in an attempt to shield her from The Dark One's cruel intentions, but in the end it was impossible for him to win. He was cursed. Cursed people don't win. They lose, and destroy those around them in the process.

Rumpelstiltskin never cried. The last time he had cried had been several centuries ago, when he had lost what remained of his family. But this hopelessness was too much to bear, and the only way to release his agonizing despair was through golden tears.

* * *

She sat in the dining room, lounging in her armchair by the fireplace, engrossed in a book. Rumpelstiltskin hadn't shown himself since his outburst last night, brought on by her immature provoking. She had pushed him too far. She was afraid she had erased the kind man that had started to appear through the golden scales. Her persistence had forced them both back to square one: a cowardly and powerful imp, and his slave.

She had heard a distant ruckus coming from his study late that night, but hadn't gone to check on him. He had to fight his inner demons by himself. Even though she wanted to erase his pain and suffering, this was something he had to overcome on his own.

She snapped out of her reverie at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind her, announcing their presence. She turned to see him stand with his hands behind his back, his gaze cast downwards. He looked like a child, ashamed of his actions and awaiting punishment.

She had meant to avoid mentioning his "episode", but she couldn't help but be concerned. "How are you feeling?" she asked, hoping he would look at her.

"Just fine, dearie," he replied smoothly. He peeked up at her briefly before busying himself with staring at his fidgeting fingers.

He was lying. He could say it all he wanted, but he wasn't fine. She had known him long enough to see past his façade. But she let the subject drop.

He wandered over to his spinning wheel in the corner. He looked down at the empty basket next to it and frowned. "I seem to have run out of straw."

She eyed him as he trailed his fingers to caress the wooden wheel, watching it wistfully as it slowly turned. He looked so tired. He no longer stood proud and superior, and she thought she could make out faint shadows under his golden eyes.

"Would you mind going into town to fetch me some more?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the wheel.

Town? Alone?

She had never been outside the castle's perimeter. She had always been confined to the spaces he had given her, under his careful watch. And now he was letting her leave the castle by herself.

"Town?" she asked incredulously.

He merely nodded.

"You trust me to come back?" she asked, searching his face for some emotion. He remained transfixed by the rotating wheel. This had to be a test. He could easily conjure up more straw if he really needed it. This had to be a trick to see how loyal she was. Surely he didn't trust her to willingly return to this prison?

"Oh, no. I expect I'll never see you again." His voice faltered slightly and he finally looked at her. Gone was his mischievous eyes and impish smile, replaced by a look of defeat and glassy eyes.

He was giving her an out, letting her leave if she so desired. But why? Was he scared he would hurt her again? She had to admit she too feared for her safety when his eyes darkened, but she believed the  _real_  Rumpelstiltskin would keep her safe. She  _had_ to believe that. How else was she supposed to sleep at night?

And here he was, the real Rumpel, giving her the opportunity to save herself from his darker side. He cared enough about her to want her safe, away from him. Did he really not trust himself the way she trusted him? Did he really think it was too late to break the curse?

She could have said numerous things. Like how she believed he would keep her safe, that she wasn't going anywhere, that this was her home now. But instead she accepted his wishes, not wishing to upset him.

"Okay," she said softly, marking the page in her book before putting it aside, showing him that she would eventually return, even though it was most likely a lie.

With a flourish of his hands an emerald coloured cloak embroidered with gold appeared out of thin air and settled around her shoulders. Carrying the empty basket he strode over to stand in front of her. He gave her the basket and reached back to pull the hood of her cloak over her auburn curls.

"Wouldn't want you to freeze," he murmured. His fingers lingered by her cheeks and he tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear.

He smiled softly, his eyes consuming her, memorizing her face for darker days.

For it would be the last time they saw each other. He obviously didn't want her there anymore, and in a feeble attempt to protect her from the darkness she had already been exposed to, he was letting her go. This charade was nothing but pretend.

"I'll be back soon," she reassured him, fulfilling her role in this tragic turn of events. He didn't expect her to return, and she wasn't sure if she would. Returning would mean that she was committing to a life with him, committing to save him from himself.

He nodded, his eyes blinking rapidly, trying to subdue his tears.

The sight of him broke her heart, so she quickly turned to leave the dining room, before she did something reckless, like reach out to embrace him in an attempt to soothe his pain.

She left without a second glance, afraid that if she turned to look she would never be able to leave. This was what he wanted. And it was what she had wanted a few months ago.

Now it felt like she was leaving her home all over again as she strode down the steps and through the huge stone gates that protected The Dark Castle, not sure if she was ever to return.

* * *

The walk into town was long, nearly two miles each way. The chilling autumn air caressed her cheeks and she pulled her cloak tighter around her as she walked. It held the spicy scent of carefully woven magic.

Her feet ached when she finally made it to the market. The sky overhead was grey, threatening to rain on the stands scattered around the marketplace. Some of the seamstresses had already started packing up their stalls, trying to save their clothes from the approaching rain, whilst farmers stood stubbornly under the cloth roofs of their crooked stalls, huddled in their warmest clothing.

She returned the smiles of those she passed. The seamstresses admired her cloak, curious as to where she came across such fine craftsmanship. Belle merely smiled and replied that it was a gift from a dear friend.

The stall providing straw was towards the back of the marketplace, partly concealed by a stand selling apples.

"I would like some straw, please," she requested kindly.

The seller was a muscular man, over a head taller than Belle, his head grazing the roof of his stall. His face was plagued by years of hard work outdoors, and a scar ran from the corner of his left eye to his left cheek. He had a hooked nose, and a strong jaw that was covered in rough stubble.

He gathered a few handfuls of straw, tied them together and handed her the bundle. "That'll be three copper jots."

Darn it. Rumpel hadn't given her any money to pay for the straw; a sign that proved he didn't believe she would return. She couldn't walk back and get some, and she couldn't come back empty handed… if she even  _was_  coming back…

"I'm so sorry, but I seem to have forgot my money," she apologized. She watched his grey eyes narrow as he snatched the straw from her hand.

"Is there any other way I can pay you?" she asked, hoping she could come back another day and pay him his due.

He looked thoughtful for a moment before smiling slyly, leaning his face towards hers. "Well, there is  _one_  way…" he trailed off, his eyes travelling down her body, which was partially concealed by her cloak. She could sense him undress her with his hungry eyes. His hot breath smelled of rancid beer, and she quickly pulled away.

"I don't think that will-"

He grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, still smiling. Her knees hit the wooden stall, making her lose balance, their faces now mere inches apart.

"Don't worry. You'll like it," he whispered, his breath making her gag. She struggled against his hold, trying to pry her arm out of his vice grip.

"I believe the lady refused your rather indecent proposal," a voice sounded behind her.

The seller looked up and instantly released her arm, quickly pulling away as if she had stung him. His crooked smile was gone, eyes wide, looking genuinely afraid. Belle turned to look upon her saviour.

She was met by friendly blue eyes and tousled brown hair. His rosy lips were framed by a neatly trimmed beard, and he wore an animal fur shawl around his shoulders. She noticed he wore a wolf-shaped pendant around his neck. His muscular and sturdy frame stood a few inches taller than her, and he laid a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her away from the stall.

He stared intently at the seller, wearing a mask of bravery and fearlessness. Even though the seller was clearly stronger than him, he didn't seem intimidated. He must be crazy. The seller could easily overpower them both without much effort. Then Belle noticed the arrows the stranger had slung across his back, and instantly felt a little safer.

"Huntsman, I… I," the seller stuttered. Was this the same man who had practically forced himself on her only moments ago? She then saw him for what he really was: a coward, a bully.

"Here." The Huntsman thrust some coins into the seller's large hands and snatched the straw from him, placing it in Belle's basket. "Keep the change," he said before gently taking Belle's arm.

He didn't drag her away, forcing her to run to keep up with him. He simply led them casually out of the marketplace, having let go of her arm and instead hooked his arm through hers, escorting her with dignity, his chin held high.

They stopped at the entrance to the market.

"Thank you for that," she said, looking up at him.

He smiled, his blue eyes gazing softly at her. "Anytime, my lady. He really needs to learn to keep his hands to himself." He spoke with a slight accent.

"Good thing we have chivalrous men like you to keep him in line," she joked.

"I wouldn't exactly call myself 'chivalrous'…" he said wistfully, his smile fading and his brows furrowing.

Belle spoke in an attempt to fill the awkward silence. "Let me pay you back," she offered, searching her cloak for  _something_ she could offer in return for his kindness.

He raised his hand to stop her. "It's no need, my lady. Really. I must be on my way." He gestured to the long road behind him, a road that led to the darker parts of the surrounding forest, where the wolves had their territories.

"Oh, well thank you again, Mr…" she trailed off.

"Humbert," he replied. "Just call me Humbert. Take care, my lady."

She smiled and bid him farewell before heading in the opposite direction.

She entered the woods, basket in hand, its contents a symbol of a stranger's kindness. She wasn't sure where she was going. If she walked fast enough she could maybe make it to another town and spend the night there, before continuing her journey home. But she wasn't sure if she  _wanted_  to go home. Where was her home anyway? Where did she belong?

It was with these doubtful thoughts that she followed the road through the woods aimlessly, watching her feet as they took one step at a time in an unknown direction. Maybe if she walked long enough, the answers to her uncertainties would show themselves.

The sounds of birds chirping and rustling branches were interrupted by the sound of hooves approaching from the distance. She turned to see a herd of black horses with shiny coats and fancy saddles, pull a black, gothic-styled carriage. Men dressed in all black armour rode on two horses behind the carriage, as well as one who sat on the perch of the carriage.

Belle scampered to the side of the road, letting them pass. She stopped to watch as the carriage rode past, but was surprised when it stopped in front of her. The door swung open, revealing the face of a middle-aged woman.

She too was dressed in all black, matching her entourage. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head in an up-do, exposing her heavily painted face. Her dark eyes and red lips gave her a striking appearance, and she seemed to radiate power.

"I hope my carriage didn't splash you," she said, her red lips stretching into a sweet smile, exposing her pearly white teeth.

"Oh, no," Belle replied, turning to continue her walk.

"Actually," she heard from behind her, forcing her to stop. "I'm tired of sitting. Would you mind if I walked with you for a spell?" the woman asked, already manoeuvring herself and her dress out of the carriage. Feeling unable to refuse, Belle silently agreed and waited for the woman to join her.

They walked slowly, the woman's carriage and horses trailing a few yards behind them. The woman held a black umbrella over her head, probably afraid of possible rain ruining her hair.

"So where are you headed?" the woman asked, her eyes watching the trees as they walked.

"I'm not sure, exactly," Belle replied, not wishing to lie.

"Well, in my experience, the only time a woman doesn't know where she is going, is when she is running from someone," the woman stated, her tone humorous.

She was very observant, and Belle wasn't sure how to reply. So she simply said nothing. The only thing breaking the quiet sounds of the forest was the sound of the woman's long, black trail grazing against the gravel beneath their feet.

"So, master or lover?" the woman pressed.

This conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn. Rum was more than her master. He was her friend. She cared about him, but was that enough to be classified as  _lover_?

She opened her mouth to answer, but couldn't find the words. Belle didn't quite know how describe them. So she didn't try. The woman took this for an answer and smiled knowingly.

"Oh. Master  _and_ lover."

Belle didn't feel comfortable in this woman's presence. It felt like she knew more than she let on, like she had a hidden agenda.

"I think I'm going to take a rest," Belle lied, wishing to rid herself of this sudden discomfort. "You go on ahead."

The woman ignored her attempt at brushing her off and merely put her arm around Belle's shoulder, urging them to continue their conversation.

"So you ran away from your master, and now you have nowhere to go," the woman stated, her fingers squeezing Belle's shoulder.

"I didn't run away," Belle corrected. "He let me go." She hadn't left at her own accord. If Rum hadn't prompted her to leave, she doubted she ever would have. If Rum hadn't let her go, she would have spent her remaining days in The Dark Castle. This she was sure of.

"He let you go?" the woman asked incredulously. "Why?"

"He didn't want me there." Her voice sounded so sad to her own ears. Was she really as heartbroken as she sounded? Feeling obligated to explain, Belle elaborated. "He didn't trust himself around me." She sighed. "Something evil has taken root in him, and he doesn't think he can overcome it."

"Sounds like a curse to me," the woman said.

It was a curse, Rum had said so himself. But Belle hadn't the faintest idea of how to break curses. She didn't know how magic worked, only that it was powerful. And powerful magic, like a curse, needed something even  _more_  powerful to break it.

"And you know how curses are broken?" the woman asked rhetorically.

An intrigued Belle could only shake her head.

The woman stopped walking and glanced back at her entourage, as if checking that they weren't listening. The woman leaned closer before speaking, her voice taking on a hushed tone. "A kiss of true love should do it."

A kiss? Was that all it took? Was true love really powerful enough to break a dark curse? Belle could hardly contain her giddiness at how simple the solution was. A kiss was a small price to pay if she could save Rum from darkness.

"One kiss? And he'll be a man again? He'll be safe?"

The woman smiled broadly. "An ordinary man."

"But how does one know if it's true love?" Belle asked. To her, true love seemed rare and beautiful, something that occurred more often in the pages of books than in the mess they called 'real life'.

"You'll have to try and find out," the woman said nonchalantly. "If he doesn't love you, the kiss won't work. But I trust you love him?"

Love him? She wasn't sure if it was  _love_  she felt. Maybe her not wishing to leave him, and him wanting to protect her was proof that they loved each other. Either way, it was worth a try.

"I guess I'll have to try and find out," Belle quoted coyly, a mischievous smile spreading across her beautiful face.

The woman laughed. "I presume you know what to do, then." The woman smiled deviously, her dark eyes dancing with excitement. "Thank you for the walk," she said politely before leaving to return to her carriage.

"Good luck!" she called over her shoulder as she climbed elegantly into her dark carriage. Belle watched as they drove past and waited until they were out of sight before continuing her walk.

Her steps suddenly felt lighter and all doubt that had harboured her thoughts had disappeared, being replaced with renewed determination. Since when did she flee when faced with a challenge? This was her chance to save the man she possibly loved. And all it took was a kiss!

She swung her basket cheerfully as she followed the gravelled path through the woods. She now knew exactly where she was going.

* * *

She entered her chambers, walking with her chin held high, her hips swaying slightly with every step she took. She owned this place, and everyone in it.

This room was theirs, where they met when she summoned him. Its silvery-grey walls and domed ceiling had absorbed her cries of pleasure whilst in his company many times before. The stone fireplace had kept their naked bodies warm, and the many candles had illuminated their skin. On one of walls hung a mirror, her gateway to the rest of the world, to the lives of her allies and enemies.

He sat on the velvet lounger in front of the fireplace, his back turned to her as he watched the dancing flames. She pulled at the knot that held her long trail to her black dress, and let it fall to the floor in a dark puddle.

She laid her hands on his shoulders, grazing her fingers through his bearskin shawl. "Did it work?" she whispered in his ear, her tongue tickling the shell of his ear. She felt him tense beneath her hands.

"I saved her from a seller lacking in manners. I presume she trusts me," he replied, his voice catching as she nibbled his earlobe.

"Good," she said, her voice husky.

She pulled the shawl from his shoulders and flung it to the floor. She kissed his neck and dipped her hands under his shirt, trailing her fingers across his chest.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, trying not to let himself get distracted by her touch.

Her fingers stilled. "Because." Her voice was suddenly firm and cold. She grabbed his chin and turned his face to face her. "She is the key to that imp's downfall." She kissed him, capturing his lower lip between her teeth and sucking. "And with Rumpelstiltskin gone, who's to stop me getting everything I want?"

She ran her hands through his hair. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts, Huntsman?"

Before he could respond she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled, tilting his head up to look at her when he avoided her gaze.

"I  _own_  you, remember?" She leaned in till their lips almost touched. "Your heart is mine," she whispered against his lips.

He wasn't fazed by her sudden mood swings, but his eyes revealed how frightened he truly was in her presence. Those who didn't fear The Queen were morons.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he said. He had learned the hard way that that was the Queen's preferred response.

She smirked at the sound of her title on his lips. She pulled back and reached back to unzip her dress. She released her hair from its up-do and let it cascade around her shoulders. Her dress pooled at her feet and she leisurely stepped out of it and settled on his lap, straddling him. She wore a black corset brassiere with trimmed lace and matching panties. She really was a breath-taking sight. It was what was underneath that truly scared him.

She kissed him deeply before removing his shirt, revelling in the sight of his bare chest. His wooden wolf pendant rested between his breasts. She twirled the chain around her fingers and pulled it towards her, his body following suit, pressing flush against hers.

"Tell me. Who do you belong to?" she asked, knowing his answer before he spoke.

"You," he answered without hesitation. He had been asked that question before, and he didn't dare give the wrong answer.

Satisfied with his rehearsed response she captured his mouth once more, grinding her hips against his, letting her body succumb to primal lust.

He responded by letting his arms encircle her waist, his tongue fighting for dominance. It was all part of the game. In the end she always won.

She undid the buttons of his breeches and teased him with her skilled fingers. He was ready for her. He  _had_  to be ready for her. It was demanded of him, required. How he had ended up as the Queen's playmate he couldn't remember, but he hoped it was for a greater cause than her mere satisfaction.

That was what he tried to convince himself of whilst the Queen pulled her panties to one side, gently guiding him to enter her. She sighed and welcomed the well-known feeling of him inside her.

She didn't wait long before she expertly rolled her hips, grasping his shoulders for support, guiding him to lean back against the lounger. She wanted full control, so he let her have it.

He merely held her hips while she rode him, moaning his name as pleasure danced through her body. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine someone he loved sharing his pleasure, someone worth fighting for. It wasn't her name he called out those times he too reached a state of ecstasy, and he never intended to do so.

Her movements became erratic as she reached her peak. Her fingernails left red trails of desire across his shoulders as she rode out her orgasm, before collapsing on to his chest. He was left unsatisfied.

When she had caught her breath, and her body had relaxed from its state of euphoria, she climbed off him, leaving him feeling misused and worthless. He was just her toy. He knew this. Yet it hurt to be reminded of it.

She bent to pick up her clothing, and quickly checked her reflection in the mirror, rearranging her dark locks.

"Until next time, my Huntsman." She bent to kiss one of the burning scratches on his shoulders before leaving, a symbol of what he was; a piece of meat.


	8. A Grand Occasion

" _Are you_ happy _now, Rumpelstiltskin?"_

He had watched Belle turn her back on him and walk out the door. He had stood quietly for a few minutes, waiting to see if she would return. She hadn't.

" _You asked her to leave, and she did. Are you satisfied now, coward?"_

He had pushed her to leave, escape while she could. Even though he hadn't said the words, she had understood his wishes. He had seen it in her eyes; the resignation that she couldn't stay with him. They had been fooling themselves, pretending they were living perfect fairytale lives, where darkness was always conquered, and good intentions prevailed. That wasn't real life. That wasn't his life.

Even though he knew he had done the right thing, he couldn't help but feel regret and sadness that he had released her. He had to remind himself that he had  _saved_ her. She was better off on the outside of The Dark Castle's walls. And he was better off alone.

But he didn't need The Dark One clawing at the wounds, reminding him of how lonely his life would be without Belle.

"Shut up…" he murmured, willing The Dark One to leave him in peace for just one night. Was that too much to ask? They were going to spend an eternity together, The Dark One dictating his desires, and Rumpel silently following orders, because he no longer had anyone to fight for. He deserved this last night to grieve.

" _She could return, you know. Waltz right back into the palm of my hand. Bravery often leads to stupidity,"_ The Dark One said, devouring his slave's misery and savouring its taste.

"Shut the hell up!" Rum shouted, grabbing bottles from the table in his study and flinging them against the wall, relishing in the sound of glass shattering.

"She is  _not_ coming back! Ever!"

He swiped his arm across the table, sending the remaining bottles, books and valuable ingredients to the floor, creating a chaotic and unfixable mess.

He braced his hands against the table, his nails digging into the wood, leaving marks.

What had he done? He shouldn't be acting this way. He should be happy he did the right thing. He saved a life, rather than damaged it. He wouldn't be in such a rage if he genuinely believed it was better this way. He had made a mistake, and he was already regretting it.

The Dark One could see Rum's thoughts, could taste his despair. He too hadn't wanted the girl to leave, but Rum had subdued him and he hadn't been able to voice his…  _opinion_. If it had been up The Dark One, she would never have left the dungeon. She would have lived down there, chained up and cuffed, always ready for him. It would have been beautiful. He was sure Rum would have enjoyed the arrangement, had he given it a chance.

The Dark One was tired of his slave's depression and inner turmoil. No woman was worth this much trouble. They could easily find a new girl, someone who feared him too much to try and defeat him, someone who accepted her fate and gave herself to him. Those were the ones he liked.

The Dark One sensed a new presence in The Dark Castle before his slave, who was too busy trying to swallow his tears. He recognized who it was immediately.

" _Rumpelstiltskin, look out the window."_

Rum's head snapped up at the sound of The Dark One's voice. It was the first time his dark conscience hadn't spoken in a tone of malice or fury. He sounded almost happy.

Rum quickly made his way to one of the arched windows and peered through the dirty glass. Night had blanketed the land many hours ago, and the moon shone like a beacon in the night sky, illuminating a slender figure in a cape hurrying up the front steps of the castle.

_It's her._

He didn't hesitate as he broke into a run out of his study, almost tripping as he sprinted down the winding steps. His heart fluttered in his chest as he burst into the dining room through a door by the fireplace.

She made her way through the double doors opposite him, glancing up to see him staring at her, wide-eyed and silent.

She still wore the cloak he had given her, the hood turned down to reveal her auburn locks, which were curlier than usual due to the humid weather. Her cheeks were flushed from the long walk and her eyes were ablaze. How could he ever have let such a beautiful woman go?

"Hi," she greeted him. She spoke softly, but her voice carried through the silence.

He didn't say anything. He just slowly inched his way closer, taking careful, soundless steps. He was afraid if he approached her too quickly, she would disappear.

"I brought straw," she said meekly, holding up the basket for him to see. He braced himself against the chair at the head of the long dining room table; the only thing that stood between them. He watched her as she placed the basket on the table and removed her cloak. She looked so at ease, like she really did belong there.

"You came back," he said, his voice weak and full of disbelief.

She gave him a confused look, her brows furrowing, a little crease appearing between her eyebrows. "Of course I did."

"I let you go," he said, still not quite comprehending that she had  _willingly_ returned to him.

"I know," she sighed. She carefully edged her way closer to him, trailing her fingers across the tabletop as she walked.

"You could have left," he continued, mirroring her actions, walking slowly towards her.

"I know," she repeated, smiling softly. She stopped, and he did the same. They now only stood a few feet apart, both unsure of what to do next. Neither wanted to disturb this fragile moment.

"Why did you come back?" he asked, leaning closer to her, mesmerized by her eyes; mirrors of the confident woman who wanted to stand by his side.

"I wasn't going to, but something changed my mind." She leaned closer, her voice turning huskier. "This is my home now, Rumpelstiltskin. This is where I want to be, with you."

This was all the reassurance he needed. She had said it herself. She wanted to be here, she wanted him. He had given her a fair chance to leave this life behind, and she had refused. She had come back to him. His love had returned.

"Oh, Belle…"

He quickly strode over to vanquish the small space between them, and he enveloped her body in a heartfelt embrace. He held her close to his chest, one hand cradling her head and the other encircling her waist, clinging to her with all his might.

She gripped his shoulders and buried her face in his chest, inhaling his scent: magic, leather and  _Rum_.

He held her as if his life depended on it, as if she was the rock in a stormy sea, and he was the drowning sailor, desperate for air and a second chance at life.

He could faintly feel her heartbeat against his chest, more proof that she was actually here in his arms. 'The right thing' was overrated and for heroes. Rum was no hero, but if that guaranteed him a life with Belle, he had no objections.

The smitten imp now knew for certain that if Belle ever did leave, he wouldn't survive it. She was his air, his sunlight, his reason to smile, and someday he hoped she would be his everything.

Refusing to part with her, they had fallen asleep in front of the fire that night. He sat on the floor with his back propped up against her armchair, and she rested in the crook of his arm, her hand spread out across his chest.

She had tried to stay awake and talk to him, but the long walk had tired her out, and she had drifted off to sleep within minutes.

He had lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles, wishing her pleasant dreams.

He, of course, hadn't been able to fall asleep. He was too busy staring at her and occasionally stroking her skin, making sure she was real.

At one point during the night, her legs had shifted to drape over his, her skirt riding up to expose an inappropriate amount of milky thigh. The Dark One had growled in the back of his mind at the sight, itching to reach out and touch, but Rum had quickly rearranged her skirt, calming the Beast within.

The Dark One's presence reminded him of why he had urged Belle to leave in the first place. Yet he didn't dwell. She had come back to him, and for the first time in what had been countless dreary nights, Rumpel felt no trepidation as to what the future would hold.

* * *

They both changed after Belle's return. They were happier, more reassured as to how the other felt. Rum knew she wanted to stay with him, and didn't try to convince her to leave his side.

She had become bolder. She would reach out to touch his arm and lean towards him during conversations. She had decided that it was ridiculous for them to sit so far apart during meals, and had moved her chair to sit left of him. Their feet would often brush, always by accident of course, and their shared meals were suddenly more intimate affairs.

Rumpel wasn't sure if these newly rediscovered feelings were  _love_  or merely friendship. He hadn't felt this way about a woman in a long time, and had almost forgotten the rush that surged through one's body when in the presence of the woman one cared for.

And although he couldn't describe it with words, he felt it should be celebrated. He wanted to show her how happy she made him, how she brought light into The Dark Castle. He wanted to show her that she had made a difference.

"Why don't you take the day off, Belle?" he said during breakfast one morning, a few days after Belle had returned.

She glanced up at him, her spoon of porridge stilling in front of her open mouth.

"Take the day off?" she questioned, blowing on her porridge attentively.

"Yes. Go outside for a bit, take a walk into town, spend time in your garden…" he trailed off, trying to come up with other activities she could do  _outside_ of The Dark Castle.

"But I was planning on doing some dusting, and I was going to organize your library. The way you've organized it makes no sense," she said, affection plainly written across her face.

"They  _aren't_  organized, dearie. And there's no need for that. I was planning on trying out some new spells today, and I would hate to have you in the castle if anything happened," he lied, trying desperately not to let any of his plans slip.

Belle eyed him, smiling crookedly as she stirred her porridge. He could tell she knew he was trying to get her out of the castle, but she didn't mention it. Being the lovely creature she was, she gracefully complied.

After they had eaten, she got ready to clear away their dirty dishes, but he laid his hand over hers, assuring her she didn't have to do  _any_ chores today. She smiled and rose from the table, and rested her hand on his shoulder, thanking him for being such a kind man.

_Man._

Was that what she considered him as now? Did she really see him as her equal; as someone she could love?

He didn't ask her. He didn't say anything of the sort. He merely reminded her to be back that evening in time for dinner.

She gently squeezed his shoulder affectionately before leaving the room.

He waited until he heard the main doors of the castle shut behind her before getting to work.

He surveyed the dirty dishes that were scattered across the table, and with a flick of the wrist, he watched how the bowls and cutlery hovered through the air and into the kitchen, where they began to wash themselves.

He looked around the dining room, a hand at his chin, pondering what to do. The room definitely needed some redecorating. Despite Belle having removed the curtains a few months ago, the room was still gloomy, no place to hold a celebration.

He closed his eyes, searching The Dark One for a flicker of good magic that could be exploited, enough to set his plans in motion. The Dark One stirred as he sensed Rum search his being, but didn't object. He was too overjoyed at the fact that Belle had returned, and even helped Rum locate a weak spot in his dark soul.

With his eyes still closed, Rum concentrated as he envisioned a room worthy of Belle's presence, a room that would take her breath away. He felt good magic spill from his fingertips and envelope the room around him, making the dining room shift and transform into a space worthy of a princess.

The magic retreated when its work was done, and Rum felt it slowly evaporate around him, making the air smell faintly of raw magic. He waited until every drop had disappeared from the room before he opened his eyes to inspect his work.

It was even more beautiful than he had imagined, and he couldn't believe that such beauty had originated from his fingertips. The dining room was unrecognizable. Belle would love it.

He set to work on the next room: the kitchen.

He walked in to find the dishes drying themselves off and making their way into their designated cupboards. He and Belle needed somewhere to eat, now that the dining room had been remodelled.

The kitchen was quite shabby considering it was located in a castle, and Rum deduced it needed a complete makeover. The Dark One supplied him with more pliable magic without even being prompted.

The finished room had an air of intimacy, which he was sure Belle would appreciate.

Lastly was the marble staircase.

As he stood in front of it, he remembered how Belle had been on her hands and knees, scrubbing the marble until her fingers bled. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, remembering what a monster he had been. He didn't want to be that dark man anymore. He aspired to be the good person Belle believed he could be. He vowed to himself that she would never have to scrub his floors for the rest of her existence.

The stairs didn't need much work, just a bit of upgrading. He cleaned them and added a red, velvet carpet running down the middle, making them look grand and royal. She didn't deserve anything less.

It was late in the afternoon by the time he was finished, and he spent the rest of his time waiting, double-checking every room, and planning the feast he would conjure up for them both. There was to be no cooking and cleaning tonight. He wanted Belle to see the happier and more enjoyable sides of magic. God knows she hadn't seen a lot of them during her stay with him.

The sun had started to set by the time he heard her enter the hallway. She called out for him and he rushed to meet her, blocking her entrance to the dining room.

She was carrying a load of books in her hands, her shoes were covered in mud, and her hair was wild.

"What's in there?" she asked, trying to squeeze past him to have a peek.

"A surprise, dearie," he said, a mischievous grin spread across his face. "Why don't you go upstairs to your room and freshen up, and I'll meet you downstairs?"

Excited by the upcoming surprise, she smiled brightly and dashed off to her room. She paused briefly at the bottom of the staircase, admiring the newly laid red carpet. Afraid of soiling it with her muddy shoes, she skirted along the edge, almost dropping her books in the process.

He snickered as he watched her cautiously make her way up the stairs, before scampering to his study to get ready.

* * *

Her thoughts had been occupied all day with the numerous possibilities as to why Rum had wanted the castle to himself. She had known he was up to something at breakfast, but hadn't mentioned anything. She had given him the satisfaction of letting him think he was being mysterious.

She had been relieved when the first signs of evening had started to approach, and had hurried back to the castle, trying to calm her excitement.

And now she was shuffling up the marble stairs to her bedroom door, which she opened with her elbow, for fear of dropping her stack of books.

She quickly placed the books on her vanity and took off her shoes, during which she saw something shimmer in her peripheral vision. She turned to her bed, her mouth falling open in astonishment.

On her bed lay the most beautiful dress she had ever seen.

It was a floor-length gold ball gown, with off the shoulder straps, a heart neckline, and intricate beading along the straps, which extended to form a heart-like pattern on the bust. It was these beads that had caught her attention, as they seemed to sparkle in the candlelight of her bedroom.

She gently trailed her fingers across the delicate fabric. It was so soft, unlike anything she had ever seen before. She had never dreamt she would wear something so exquisite. It was fit for royalty, not a peasant girl.

She held the straps between her fingers and placed the dress against her body, gently swaying her hips as she watched the fabric swirl around her feet.

She gently laid it across her bed, afraid of damaging it, before rushing to her bathroom to rid her feet of mud and dust. She threw her clothes on the floor and slipped on the gold dress, revelling in the feel of silk against her bare skin.

It fit perfectly.

She quickly combed through her curls, scooping the tendrils around her face into a half up-do. She noticed a pair of gold, high-heeled shoes on the floor by the end of the bed. They had a sturdy heel and a delicate strap that fastened around her ankles. After closer inspection, she realized that the straps were actually made of several gold threads braided together.

They too fit like a glove, and she was amazed at how Rum had managed to guess her size.

Since her room, for some odd reason, didn't have a mirror, she looked at herself in the window, the approaching darkness outside making it possible for her to see the way the corset-like body of the dress complimented her figure, how her auburn hair cascaded down her back, and how she couldn't stop smiling.

She fingered the fabric of the full skirt, curtseying at her reflection, before making her way down the corridor to the marble stairs. As she rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks, truly touched by the sight that greeted her.

There he stood by the foot of the stairs, waiting for her.

He too had changed his clothes to match her gown, though it was the usual ensemble. He wore a dark gold shirt, with ruffles at the sleeves and an open collar, a deep brown waistcoat, and his usual leather trousers and boots.

His hair seemed less unruly than usual. Had Rumpelstiltskin actually  _combed_ his hair?

His eyes widened as he saw her at the top of the stairs, and they stood for a moment in silence, both in awe of each other.

She gingerly made her way down the steps, lifting her skirt so as not to trip.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "You look beautiful." He offered her his hand.

She smiled lovingly at him. "You look pretty handsome, yourself," she replied, happily taking his hand.

He led them through the hall to the dining room door. It felt so natural to her, holding his hand. Like they had done it a million times before. He no longer frightened her; instead he intrigued her. She no longer saw his darker side as something dangerous, but as something they could overcome, as something she could free of him of. And it was something she  _would_  free him of, soon.

"Am I going to get to see the surprise now?" she asked eagerly.

"Not just yet, love." He pulled her to stand in front of him. "The surprise is in the dining room, so we're eating in the kitchen tonight. Promise you won't peek?" he said, trying to sound severe.

"I promise," she said, tempted to fling open the door.

He chuckled. "Why don't I believe you?" he teased. He reached up to cover her eyes with one hand, as he held her right hand delicately. "I'm not taking any chances," he whispered.

He gently guided them through the dining room, making sure she couldn't see anything through his fingers. She heard a door close behind them, and his hand left her eyes.

The kitchen looked nothing like how she had left it. It had become a romantic and grand dining room, so unlike anything she could have imagined Rum creating.

He had gotten rid of the tabletops, cupboards and rickety chairs, replacing them with a long oak table, draped in a deep purple tablecloth with gold trim. Two chairs were set up, and they were grouped together at one end.

The table was decorated with candelabras, and the tapestried walls were adorned with a large painting and velvet drapes.

On the table stood several dishes mouth-watering food, consisting of roasted vegetables, sauces, a wide selection of meat and poultry, as well as numerous puddings and desserts. It was enough food to feed two dozen men.

"Is all this for us?" she asked, amazed that he had had enough time to cook all this.

"Of course. I expect we'll be eating leftovers for the next fortnight," he joked, moving to pull out her chair for her.

She graciously thanked him and sat down, deciding what to eat. She chose a roast chicken with carrots and a mushroom sauce, while he settled for tender horsemeat, roasted potatoes and a pea stew. They ate until they couldn't fit another bite, during which Belle talked of her books and garden, while Rum listened attentively, mesmerized by her smile and eyes.

She couldn't help but notice how content he looked, how happy he seemed just listening to her talk. He enjoyed her company, as did she. A few months ago, the thought of her dining with the man who took her from her home, and actually  _enjoying_  his company, seemed utterly absurd. Now she couldn't imagine another life.

"So what's the occasion?" she asked, gesturing to the room around them.

"We are celebrating," he said, reaching to pour them some more wine.

"And what are we celebrating,  _dearie_?" she teased, taking a sip of her wine. She even added a high-pitched giggle.

He grinned at her impression of him. "Your home-coming," he said.

"Gosh. I didn't know me coming home from a trip to the market was such a big deal," she joked.

"It was to me," he said, all humour disappearing from his voice.

She glanced up to see him looking at her intently, his gold eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

"I care about you, Belle. It means a lot to me to have you here," he confessed.

She had never heard him speak so sincerely, so unguarded and vulnerable. Until then, she hadn't realized how much she meant to him.

"I truly haven't been happier, even though it didn't start off as such. I can't imagine life without you, Rumpelstiltskin," she assured him.

She raised her glass, proposing a toast.

"To a new beginning."

"To  _our_ new beginning," he repeated.

He pushed his chair away from the table and stood in front of her, once again offering her his hand to take.

"I think it's time for your surprise."

She smiled brilliantly up at him, taking his hand and letting him escort her.

His hand stilled, hovering at the doorknob. "You ready?" he asked. He seemed just as excited as she was.

All she could do was nod.

"Just close your eyes for a few moments," he said softly.

She did, too impatient to argue.

He opened the door and held both her hands as he led her over the threshold and into the middle of the dining room. He let go of her hands and she opened her eyes.

The dining room had multiplied in size, and had turned into a grand ballroom. It was unlike the other rooms in the castle, which were dusty and dreary. This was stunning and mind-blowing, an example of true beauty.

And it was gold.

The floors were a bronze, marble-like stone and two opposing walls were lined with gold pillars, which had intricate carvings of roses around the base. The ceiling had taken on a domed shape, from which hung an exquisite, gold chandelier, illuminating the entire cathedral-like room. She stood facing an entire wall of arched, floor-to-ceiling windows, revealing a spectacular view of the night sky, letting one see countless stars and constellations.

"Do you like it?" he asked gently.

"I love it!" she exclaimed, amazed that he had created all this for  _her._  It was like something out of one of her books.

"Shall we, my lady?" He bowed gracefully, smiling as she stared at him.

Was Rumpelstiltskin asking her to dance?

She heard soft music start to play in the background, though she couldn't locate its source. It seemed to be coming from the air itself.

She carefully took his hand, and was surprised as he confidently guided her other hand to rest on his shoulder, before he slipped his hand around her waist.

She let him lead them across the floor. She focused on not stepping on his feet, but soon enough she let herself flow with the music. He was an excellent dancer, and he gracefully spun her around, making the skirt of her dress twirl around her legs.

They watched each other as they twirled and glided. He smiled at her tenderly, and it was the first time she had seen such sincere joy in his expression. It made her heart swell.

The music slowed down and she rested her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes, just relishing in being so close to him. She felt him rest his cheek against the top of her head, and she smiled at how he too welcomed this closeness. She had never thought him being capable of being so brave, so forward.

The music faded out as he led them both to the huge windows. One of the windows had a set of double doors, which led out to a large balcony.

They stood with their arms linked gazing up at the stars.

The view was dazzling. Although darkness hid most of the landscape, making it impossible to distinguish where the earth ended and the sky began, it was the thousands of flickering stars high above their heads that mesmerized her.

He pointed out various constellations for her to see, but she couldn't take her eyes off him. The naked moonlight had stripped his skin of its golden hue, and his eyes seemed almost chocolate brown. She couldn't help but wonder if this was what he would look like after the curse was broken. She hoped this would be the life they would have. She didn't expect fine dining and dancing every night, but she hoped that they could be as happy as this someday, without the inner darkness and emotional turmoil.

"Thank you for this," she whispered.

"Any time, love."

He smiled, and she contemplated whether she should just kiss him there and then, but she waited, wanting to take advantage of his good mood.

"You haven't told me much about yourself," she said, taking his hand and leading them to sit on the low, stone railing. They sat close together, their knees touching, and Belle held both his hands in hers. She looked down at how their pale and gold skin touched, how it looked… right.

"What was your life like before all this? Before The Dark Castle?" she asked gently.

"Nothing glamorous, I assure you. I was a poor spinner who scrounged for dinner regularly." His eyes drifted and stared wistfully into space, as he remembered his days without magic.

"What about your family?" she asked, feeling a little insensitive for forcing him to talk about such a tender topic. But she wanted to know him; she wanted to heal him. And in order to do that, she had to know what needed mending.

"There was a wife and a son, but I lost them both." He avoided her gaze as he shared his past, not wanting to see her pity.

"You had a son?"

It was hard to picture Rum with a small child on his lap, a child with chocolate brown eyes and skilled hands for spinning. She imagined how he would hold his son as he soothed him to sleep, how he would read him stories and show him the stars.

And she thought of him happily married. She thought of him sharing a bed with a beautiful woman, someone who made him smile, someone he longed to return home to. And though she hated to admit it, she felt an inkling of jealousy.

She knew it was ridiculous. She knew that now, in the present, she made him happy, and despite her jealousy, she would give him his family back if she could.

"Yes," he said in a sombre tone. "But I lost him."

"What happened?" she asked, tears brimming in her eyes as she envisioned Rum standing by a small grave, crying silent tears of loss.

"I broke a promise. He was trying to save me, and I, foolishly, chose power over him. I haven't seen him since."

He drew a ragged breath before continuing.

"I'm still looking for him, but it's getting harder. I'm running out of places to look."

So this was how it was. The Dark One, the feared Rumpelstiltskin, was nothing but a distressed father in search of his boy.

"Do you use magic to try and find him?" she asked, finally understanding why magic was so important to him.

He nodded. "But  _he_  doesn't always let me…" he trailed off.

So Rumpel's dark conscience wouldn't let him find his son. Belle felt anger boil in her blood, sending a flush to her cheeks. She had known The Dark One's true nature, his lack of compassion and leniency, but how could someone be so  _cruel_? How could someone not want a family to reunite?

The Dark One, although the source of Rum's powers, was nothing but a cold burden, threatening to drown Rum in his own sadness and loneliness. There were no positive sides to letting The Dark One continue to soil Rum's soul. He had to go.

It was in this moment Belle knew that what she had planned was the  _right_  thing to do. She wasn't just doing this to save herself and him, but she was doing this to help him find his son. She was freeing him from darkness.

His gaze was still fixed on their entwined hands. She raised one of her hands to cup his cheek, willing him to look at her.

"I want to try something," she whispered, carefully leaning in.

He just sat there, his eyes fixed on hers as she carefully drew nearer. She heard him draw a breath, their lips only an inch apart. She hoped this would work, that this would save him.

She barely felt the warmth of his lips against hers before he drew back.

"What are you doing?"


	9. Flee

"What are you doing?"

He had barely felt her soft lips against his before he pulled away. She opened her eyes slightly, their azure hue tainted with desire. She moved her hand from his cheek to his neck, grabbing him more forcefully and holding him in place, close to her.

"This will work," she whispered, leaning in again, trying to capture his lips, to taste his breath on her tongue.

And there was no denying it; he wanted to. Yet he stopped her, not letting her get too close.

"What will work?" he asked, his brows furrowing as he pulled her hand away from his neck, laying it to rest in her lap, his fingers still touching hers. She sighed at his caution, his hesitation.

"A kiss," she explained, "True Love's Kiss can break any curse." She entwined their fingers in her lap. "You can free yourself, Rumpelstiltskin. You can rid yourself of the darkness."

She smiled up at him, her eyes bright with excitement.

She wanted to break his curse? She thought he was worth saving? He hadn't thought there was a solution to his suffering, an antidote to the disease that corrupted his soul. He had deserted the hope of ever being a free man again long ago. He had accepted that he would never become what he once was. And here she was, offering him a way out. A way that involved love;  _their_ love. Even after being tainted by darkness, even after experiencing the cruelty that darkness possesses, she stayed with him. And if what she was saying was true, perhaps she even loved him. And maybe he loved her too.

But losing The Dark One meant losing his powers, and he wasn't sure if he could do that yet. He needed to find Bae, and for that he needed magic. Maybe he could tell Belle to wait a little longer, to give him time to find his only child before she freed him. Because he couldn't stand the thought of losing her, but he just needed  _more time._

But before he could respond, he felt The Dark One flare to life. His sudden control caught Rum off guard, and he felt himself being overpowered and strangled into silence.

He tried clawing his way through the darkness, back to the surface where Belle waited for him, but it was no use. The Dark One was much stronger than before, and he hadn't a chance of fighting him off.

"Poor, ignorant girl," he heard himself snarl. His voice had been replaced with the guttural voice of The Dark One, and he saw Belle's eyes widen in fear. He felt The Dark One's rage envelope his body; rage triggered by fear of being defeated.

"You think you can defeat me?" he snickered, leaning in closer as Belle pulled further away. She almost got to her feet, but The Dark One pulled her down and grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him.

Rum could see she knew this wasn't him. She knew the real Rumpelstiltskin cared for her. She knew she was now dealing with the monster. And he expected that she now knew all hope was dwindling fast.

"Is this you being the hero? Killing the beast?" The Dark One sneered, humoured by Belle's meagre attempt at saving him.

She jerked her head away from his touch. "Let him go," she ordered.

"Who? Weak, old Rumpelstiltskin? He isn't brave enough to face me. He's cowering as we speak, hoping I'll have mercy on you."

Hearing The Dark One's lies made Rum fight harder, desperate to regain control. He looked for weak spots he could take advantage of, but couldn't find any.

"You're lying," she hissed.

"Am I?" The Dark One countered, his mouth curling up into a malicious smile.

"I know you're there, Rumpelstiltskin," she said louder, searching The Dark One's eyes for traces of his slave. Rum tried to answer her, shouting and screaming that he was there, that he was fighting, that he wanted to be saved, but nothing came out. He heard The Dark One's voice echo through his mind.

" _I have her now, Rumpelstiltskin. She will be mine."_

Belle suddenly flung herself forward, right into The Dark One's arms, desperately trying to touch his lips with hers. She still hadn't given up hope.

But The Dark One was too quick for her, and stopped her easily. He held both her wrists tightly in one hand, pulling her closer, whilst clamping his other hand over her mouth. Through The Dark One's eyes, Rum saw the look on Belle's face when she realized what a terrible mistake she had just made. There was no way The Dark One was letting go of her now.

She tried to free her hands, but The Dark One just squeezed harder, earning muffled cries from beneath his fingertips.

"I don't believe in True Love, but I'm not taking any chances," The Dark One said. "However…" He leaned closer, their noses touching. "Just because we can't kiss, doesn't mean I can't have a little fun…" he murmured, using his hand over her mouth to angle her head back, revealing her neck, before slowly dragging his tongue over her pale flesh, nipping at the soft skin by her throat.

Rum's stomach churned at The Dark One's behaviour. He knew what The Dark One would eventually do to Belle if he didn't take control. He would claim her, soil her, and break her beyond repair.

The Dark One hissed as he inhaled Belle's scent. Rum saw the images playing through The Dark One's mind,  _their_  mind, images that would haunt him for the rest of his existence.

But Belle could take care of herself. She bit into The Dark One's hand covering her mouth, making him jerk back in surprise. Rum felt the searing pain of her bite, and saw her blood stained lips as she jerked her wrists free.

She quickly got to her feet, distancing herself from him as much as possible.

"You bitch!" The Dark One growled, watching he and Rum's shared blood run down his finger. "Looks like someone needs to be taught a lesson in manners."

The Dark One rose to approach her, and Rum saw the terror on Belle's face. They both remembered the last time The Dark One had 'taught Belle a lesson'. He would rather die than put her through that again.

He tried to urge Belle to save herself, to leave the castle and never return, but The Dark One wouldn't let him utter a single word. Luckily, Belle wasn't blinded by her reckless bravery, and she spun on her heel and fled the balcony, running through the ballroom with her gold dress trailing behind her.

The Dark One didn't chase after her like a predator stalking its prey. He merely sat back down on the balcony wall, watching her as she escaped. Rum felt The Dark One slowly loosen his grip on his body and retreat to being merely a dark conscience.

"You're a monster," Rum said aloud.

" _No, Rumpelstiltskin._ We _are a monster,"_  The Dark One cruelly reminded him.

He quickly stood and started to make his way to the ballroom doors, heading to find Belle and end his misery once and for all. But before he made it to the doorway, The Dark One stopped him with his venomous words.

" _Don't even think about seeking her out, Rumpelstiltskin. You know I will take over again. You're too weak to fight me."_

Not wishing to risk Belle's safety anymore than he already had, he quickly backed away from the door and sank to the cold stone floor, his back resting against the balcony wall.

"So why don't you just go find her now?" Rum asked, wanting to know why The Dark One insisted on prolonging his misery.

" _Because she can't stay away from me forever. Soon she will come to me willingly. I never cared for chasing after what I want, and I have plenty of patience to wait for her."_ Yet again The Dark One's vile mental images reminded Rum of his plans for Belle, making him nauseous, anger coursing through his veins.

He hoped that Belle had seen how hopeless it all was and was now planning to leave the castle. No matter what happened to her after she left, it was better than anything fate had in store for her here with him.

* * *

She hiked up the skirt of her dress and ran as fast as her high-heeled shoes could carry her. She slammed the ballroom door behind her before fleeing up the marble stairs to her room, almost twisting her ankle in the process.

She dashed into her bedroom and locked the door, the only thing protecting her from a monster.

She didn't think he had been following her, but still she stood holding her breath, listening for any sounds of footsteps outside her door. Nothing. Only silence and her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She let out the breath she had been holding and realized the danger she was in. Rum was gone. He had disappeared in the blink of an eye, replaced by the beast that threatened to destroy them both. She had seen it in his eyes; the moment when his usual golden hue had disappeared, warning her of approaching evil.

She should have known that it wouldn't be that easy. How could she have forgotten that the infestation in Rum's body was watching them, listening to their every word, ready to strike when the time was right. She had been naïve to think that all it took was a kiss.

She had never been more terrified in all her life, even in the dungeon. Unlike then, now she knew what The Dark One was capable of. And unlike before, any hope she had had of Rum overpowering his inner demons was fading, seeming more and more impossible.

The future she had been so certain of, the future they would have had together, now seemed like nothing but a dream; foolish, wishful thinking that she was stupid to think could come true. This wasn't a fairytale. There were no guaranteed 'happy endings', and True Love was not the solution to every curse.

Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered the hopes she had had for their future life together, as a family. Maybe Rum would've found his son. They could have been happy together. Even though she wasn't sure if what she felt was love, she  _could have_  loved him someday.

And the tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks when she realized she could not stay.

Although she hated leaving Rum behind to face this on his own, the castle, her home, was no longer safe. The Dark One wanted her, and she wasn't going to wait until it was too late to escape.

The skin on her neck where Rum's,  _The Dark One's,_  tongue had cruelly caressed still tingled uncomfortably, and she tried to calm the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her as she kicked off her shoes and peeled off the exquisite dress. She rinsed her mouth out with water, trying to rid her pallet of the disgusting taste from The Dark One's blood. She hastily changed into her blue dress and everyday shoes before grabbing the cloak Rum had given her. Back then, she wasn't sure if she would ever return, and now she was almost certain this would be her last time in The Dark Castle.

Clasping the cloak around her shoulders, she quickly wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, and began planning how to leave. She rushed over to the window. The dark night sky seemed foreboding, warning her to stay indoors. She threw open her window and peered down into the darkness. She could make out the ground below her in the moonlight. It was at least a fifteen foot drop – definitely not an option.

She knew the only way she could leave the castle was the way she came in.

The front door.

She slowly walked to the bedroom door, as if she was waiting for him to suddenly burst in. She stood for a few moments, watching and waiting. Nothing.

With her hand on the handle, she pulled the fabric of the cloak to her face, breathing in the scent she had come to recognize, and sometimes even long for. The scent of Rumpelstiltskin. Now his scent was all that was left of what he used to be, before darkness had gripped him too hard, subdued him, replaced him.

She crept out of her bedroom and down the marble stairs, occasionally stopping and listening. Still nothing.

She became more nervous when she came to the hall, the front door just a few feet away. Her heartbeat quickened as she made her way over the stone floor, the heels of her shoes making faint tapping sounds with each step.

The dining room door was ajar, making it possible for her to see that the glorious ballroom had disappeared, being replaced with the usual long oak table, fireplace and spinning wheel. It made the happiness she had felt with Rum feel that much more distant.

She opened the front door painstakingly slowly, holding her breath as the hinges creaked. She opened it enough to be able to slip through, and quietly left the door ajar behind her, not wanting to make any more noise.

When she had finally made her way over the threshold, she sighed with relief and ran. She ran faster than she ever had as a child, faster than when she had encountered a pack of wolves in the woods as a teen, faster than when she had found out her mother had died. Her legs dashed across the long pebbled walk to the main gates of the castle, her cape billowing out behind her.

The gate towered over her, and it took a lot of pulling and heaving before she finally managed to swing the heavy wooden doors open.

Beyond the gates was darkness; only a path leading into the woods was illuminated by the moonlight. Other than that, there was just uncertain darkness.

She glanced back one more time. She could see a light on in one of the tower windows, and a dark figure pacing back and forth.  _Rumpelstiltskin._

Although she cared for him deeply, she couldn't stay. It wasn't safe for either of them. Perhaps this way she could move on with her life, and Rum could finally find his son. That is, if The Dark One ever let him.

Belle drew a ragged breath before closing the gate behind her, drawing the hood of her cloak over her head in an attempt to keep out the chilly night air.

She followed the path illuminated by the moon, not wishing to get lost.

She hadn't taken many steps before the sense that she was being watched washed over her. Her eyes peered into the vast darkness on either side of the path, searching for any sign of movement. She had almost calmed down when she spotted something in her peripheral vision. Red.

She spun to see a red eye emerging towards her from the darkness. The moonlight soon revealed a black eye, silver grey fur and sharp, white teeth. Its paws barely made a sound as the animal stalked towards her, its eyes watching her every move. She backed away in fear, getting ready to dash back through The Dark Castle's gates. Suddenly dealing with menacing evil seemed more appealing than having to fight off a wolf.

The wolf continued towards her, and she raised her hands, her palms facing out, desperate to show that she meant no harm. She heard a low rumble from the animal's throat, and she was about to flee back through the gates, when a figure stepped out of the shadows.

She sighed with relief at the sight of familiar blue eyes and tousled hair, his arrows still strapped to his back.

"Humbert!"

She smiled as he walked up to her, the wolf staying close to his side.

"Is he yours?" she asked, gesturing towards the intimidating animal.

He smiled down at his companion and scratched him between his ears. "He found me in the woods one day. We shared a deer for dinner, and he has followed me ever since." He spoke with so much affection, as if he were speaking of a friend.

"I thought wolves travelled in packs?" she asked, transfixed by the wolf's eerie eyes.

"They do, but it turns out this one's a lone wolf, so to speak." He looked up at Belle. "A trait he and I have in common."

Belle glanced at the wolf pendant around his neck. He seemed quite connected with animals in a loving way, despite being a hunter. She was about to ask him more about his 'pet' when she remembered where they were. "What are you doing here?"

"I came here for you," he replied, his eyes fixed on hers.

"For me?" she asked incredulously.

"I have a solution to your problems," he continued.

Her problems? Surely he didn't mean… What would he know about that?

She suddenly became more guarded, not willing to say too much, or something she would later regret. Instead she implied nothing and merely pretended to be ignorant.

"What problems? I don't have any problem," she said hastily, rearranging her cloak around her so as to avoid his gaze.

"I know, my lady. I know about Rumpelstiltskin's curse," he said. "And I know about you and him," he added in a softer tone.

She couldn't help but look up at the mention of her and Rum, not sure what to say. How could he know about them, about their delicate relationship? What could he possibly know of the internal struggles that went on in The Dark Castle?

She didn't ask, but instead pressed him for what he knew of the curse.

"All I know is that it is devouring his soul, threatening to tear him from whatever light and good is still within him. I know he is losing the battle for control, and I know that you want to put an end to it."

It was true. Everything he was saying was true. There was nothing to contradict, and she had nothing to add. So she merely nodded, her worried thoughts returning to Rum, whom she had left because she had been too scared, too caught up in the hopelessness.

"And I also know how to break it," he said.

This pulled her out of her reverie. How could she not have thought of it before? Perhaps the cure to Rumpelstiltskin's suffering was to be found  _outside_ the castle? Maybe all it took was help from others, a little magic? Or a small miracle.

"How?" she pressed, growing more and more eager. She had been too quick to accept that all hope was lost. She wasn't alone in this, and neither was Rum. There were other people in this world willing to help them both, if they just chose to have faith.

"My Queen will be able to break the curse," he said confidently.

His Queen? She had never heard of any Queen living in their land. Perhaps this just showed how disconnected she was from the outside world, having spent all her time with Rum.

"And you're sure your Queen can do it? Does she have experience with dark magic?" Belle asked, wanting to be sure this would work before she got her hopes up.

"Yes, she's a very powerful woman, capable of many things," he said wistfully, his radiant eyes dimming ever so slightly at his own words.

The woman had obviously had an effect on this man, but Belle chose not to mention it. She couldn't wait any longer. Even if, despite Humbert's assurances, this powerful Queen couldn't break the curse, it was still worth a try. Every try was worth it, so long as it might bring Rum his freedom.

"Well, let's go then," she said, making her way past the Huntsman, expecting him to follow her.

"Wait a minute," he said, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder.

She looked at him quizzically.

"My Queen said that she needed something from you, the key to being able to break the curse."

"What?" she urged.

"The dagger."

Of course. Fighting evil was never a simple task. They needed the dagger, the same dagger that had made her acquainted with The Dark One in the first place; the dagger that Rum had said himself was the key to his demise. Was taking it from him the best course of action? And more importantly, where had he hidden it? She hadn't seen it since the first time she'd found it hanging on the wall. After that he had taken extra precautions. He had probably made the dagger invisible; just to make sure she would never find it.

Since she trusted that this Queen knew what she was doing, Belle didn't question the demand. She merely addressed the obvious problem.

"But I don't even know where it is. He hid it from me weeks ago."

Humbert planted both his hands on her shoulders. "Are you sure you have no idea where it is?" He squeezed her shoulders gently, urging her to think, to somehow understand Rumpel's idea of what a good hiding spot was.

"He could have hidden it anywhere. I don't…" She trailed off. "Is there no other way?" she asked, her voice faltering, her words laced with panic.

He sighed and dropped his hands from her shoulders. "No. The Queen specified that she  _needed_ the dagger. Without it it's hopeless." He sounded almost as pained as she did.

They said nothing for a few moments, as Belle's mind tried frantically to memorize ever crook of the castle, trying to think of any place he could have hidden it.

"I think I might know where it is, but it's just a hunch," she lied. She hadn't the faintest idea as to where it was, but she wasn't about to give up that easily, not when she was faced with a solution, a way that didn't involve True Love's Kiss.

"You do?" he asked, already sounding more excited, his rosy lips smiling.

She nodded. She knew what she was saying. This meant she would have to return to The Dark Castle and search it, while avoiding Rum in the process. It wasn't a simple task, but since when was saving the people you care about easy? She looked over her shoulder at the gates she had just walked through, and accepted that she would have to face what was behind them one last time. Just one more time for Rumpel's sake.

"I'll be waiting out here for you," he reassured her, turning her to face the looming, wooden gates.

She gently touched the solid wood before pushing the gate open.

She didn't run this time. This time she walked slowly, ready to turn and run if Rum spotted her outside the castle. She knew that once she was inside, the only way she was getting out was if she remained undetected.

She slowly made her way up the steps to the front door, which was still ajar, just as she had left it.

She stood just outside the door, peeking through the small opening, listening and watching for any signs of him. Determining that the coast was clear, she treaded lightly into the hall.

She was back inside. Now all she had to do was figure out where that clever imp had hidden it. She tried imagining herself in Rum's position. Where would she hide something she didn't want herself to find?

It would be somewhere she didn't venture often, somewhere secluded, somewhere she didn't hang around or snoop about. Somewhere she wouldn't go if she had the choice.

And the answer came to her like a beacon in the night, or rather, a damp, descending stairwell. It made perfect sense.

The dungeon.


	10. A Dangerous Notion

The dungeon air was just as damp and cold as she remembered. The sounds of her footsteps echoed within the stairwell as she descended, reminding her of her nightmares. The darkness became thicker with each step, and she trailed her fingers across the stone wall, relying on her touch to tell her when the staircase winded.

A single torch illuminated the dungeons, its glow failing to reach every corner of the dungeon. She hated this place. Just being here made her wrists tingle. She reminded herself for the countless time, that she was doing this for someone she cared about. She stood in front of the cell she had occupied, gathering her courage, before gently reaching out to touch the handle. She knew what Rum did to doors he didn't want opened.

Relieved that her fingers weren't covered in burns, she swung the heavy door open and peered inside.

She could barely see two feet in front of her. The moonlight filtered through the small barred windows, but it was hardly enough for her to be able to find the dagger. She grabbed the torch from the wall, claiming the only source of light in the dungeon as her own, and held it out in front of her as she cautiously entered the cell.

Nothing appeared to be different at first glance. The stone ledge that she had used as a bed when first arriving was still in the corner, and the dirt on the floor still showed where she had lain after being attacked by The Dark One. Maybe if she looked hard enough she would find the dirt that had absorbed her tears.

Unsure of how to find a hidden magical object, she started by the cell door and began touching and prodding the walls, hoping Rum had been careless and simply hidden it behind a stone that budged easily.

She held the torch in front of her as she studied the wall; desperate to find a glitch, a weak spot, something that appeared to have been tampered with.

After finding nothing obvious on the first wall, she started on the second, checking every crack and every dent. She tried to ignore her disappointment at not finding anything.

She then started on the wall opposite the cell door. Growing impatient, she didn't examine this wall as thoroughly as before, but merely ran her hands along the stone, her chances of actually finding the dagger seeming more and more unlikely.

Her hands ran over a sharp piece of metal embedded in the wall, and she tried pulling it out, before realizing it was what remained of the iron manacles that had held her upright the last time she had been down here.

She thought she heard distant footsteps coming from outside the cell, and whirled around in fear, the torch flickering in her hand. She remained silent and motionless for a few moments, waiting for Rum's dark eyes to appear in the doorway.

She sighed in relief when no one came, and continued her search, still listening for any sounds. She clambered on top of the stone ledge in the corner, quickly running out of wall to search. She reached the end and jumped down from the ledge. Frustrated that she had spent God knows how long searching the walls of this horrid place, with no luck, she kicked the stone ledge, trying to rid herself of her irritation.

As her foot collided with the stone, she heard an echoing sound, as if the stone was hollow.

Intrigued, but not wishing to get her hopes up, she dropped to her knees in front of it and tapped it with her knuckles. Again she heard a sound echo within the stone.

Her eyes widened and a smile spread across her face. This must be it. This must be the hiding spot.

She began searching for a way to lift or move the stone. She tried prying her fingers underneath it, but it was no use. She tried pulling it away from the wall, trying to hook her fingers around the corner. She ripped one of her nails in half with the effort, cursing under her breath as she sucked the small droplets of blood from her finger.

She then stuck the tip of the torch between the ledge and wall, hoping it would budge. Even just an inch would make things easier. Growing desperate, she hacked at the stone with the torch, causing a bit of the stone to crumble, leaving her with a small hole.

She hooked three of her fingers around the edge of the hole and pulled, her arm aching with the effort. She gasped in surprise, as the ledge seemed to loosen from the floor and budge a few inches, enough to see that there was a hole underneath.

She moved around and peered into the hole, using the torch to see. She could only make out bundles of fabric. No sign of any dagger. Yet.

She positioned herself with her back against the wall and braced her foot against the ledge, pushing it away to reveal more of the secrets hidden underneath. She managed to move it a whole foot, and she got down on her knees, rummaging through the fabrics.

She came across a bundle of fabric that was tied together with a piece of string. She untied the knot, and realized as it grazed her fingertips, that it was woven gold. She couldn't help but smile at his incriminating attention to detail.

She gently laid the golden string aside, and rolled out the fabric. As the piece of fabric lay stretched out on the floor, she saw it was in fact a small children's cloak, simple and tawny in colour. And in the middle of this cloak, lay what she was looking for.

The flame of her torch reflected in the dagger's curvy blade, and the edges were tainted with dark stains: the remnants of her blood.

She gently reached out to trace her finger across the name engraved in the blade, when an unfamiliar voice interrupted her.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Belle jumped and the torch slipped out of her hand, falling to the damp ground, the flame extinguishing, leaving her swallowed in dangerous darkness. She whirled around, searching for the voice.

"Who's there?" she called out, frantically scanning the darkness for any movement. All she heard was someone snickering. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the moonlight being her only source of light, and she saw a dark figure leaning against one of the walls, watching her.

Having noticed that she was looking at him, the figure slowly stepped out from the shadows and into the moonlight.

A handsome man stood before her, with flawless porcelain skin and dark hair; the moonlight accentuating the stark contrast. He seemed to ooze power and arrogance, and he smirked as he strode towards her.

"Who are you?" she asked again.

"The one assigned to protect this dagger," he said, gesturing to the weapon on the ground between them.

It seemed odd that Rum would assign someone the task of guarding his most prized possession. He seemed to think he was perfectly capable of doing that himself. If he didn't trust  _her_  with the dagger, whom else could he possibly rely on?

"So Rumpelstiltskin  _told_  you to protect it?" she asked sceptically, cocking one of her eyebrows.

The man's unnerving smile never faltered.

"Yes, he and I are very  _close_ ," he said, his tone making it sound like an inside joke. "What are you going to do with that dagger, Belle?" he asked.

"How do you know my name?" she asked defensively, trying to hide the uneasiness this stranger brought out in her. She was sure she had never met him before, not even in the village. She would've remembered a face like his.

He chuckled, finding her caution amusing. "I know a lot about you," he said confidently.

He reached down to pick up the torch she had dropped. He didn't take his eyes off her as the torch suddenly burst into flame, casting shadows on his defined features. It had been hard to notice in the dark, but as the light hit his face, she noticed he was slightly transparent, some of the light passing through him, his figure casting a light shadow on the wall. Her gaze shifted between him and the torch. She watched as he let it go, and the torch stayed where it was, hovering in thin air.

He possessed magic.

"Like what?" she asked.

"I know what you dream of. I know why you're here," he said, his fingers playing with the torch's flame. "And…" His smirk grew, his fingers stilling in the middle of the flame. "I know your deepest and darkest desires." His voice had dropped to a mere whisper.

His words disturbed her. He made it sound like  _he_ had seen her before, like they had a relationship she didn't know about. He made it sound like he wasn't telling the whole truth.

"What do you know of my desires?" she asked, her voice shaking ever so slightly.

She instantly regretted asking. His smirk stretched into a grin as he stalked towards her, his hand hovering over the dagger as he passed it, causing it to spring up from the floor and into his hand. She backed away as far as she could until her back hit the wall.

"I know you think this will save him-" He twirled the dagger between his fingers – "but it won't. This will only hurt him more." The man raised his other hand to brace against the wall next to Belle's face, keeping her from escaping. "You should pretend you never found this, and accept Rumpelstiltskin for who his is."

"But, he's tortured," Belle contradicted, watching the dagger as it twirled in the stranger's hand.

The stranger laughed. "Not tortured, merely trying to suppress his desires."

She knew it wasn't Rum's desires that were dangerous. It was The Dark One's desires that were the threat; what needed to be suppressed. He was just overpowering them to keep her safe, to keep her out of Darkness' grasp.

"I've seen his desires, Belle. They are quite…  _explicit_ …" He pressed against her, their chests touching, his knee forcing its way between her thighs, pinning her in place.

She gasped at the sudden contact, not expecting his touch to be so forceful and  _present_ , given his slightly transparent state. She sensed danger, and she tried to push him away, to wriggle out of his hold, but he was too strong. She wasn't safe anymore.

She looked up at him and was met by eyes as black as night. She could see her terrified expression reflected in them. They seemed familiar somehow.

"Let me go," she snarled, unwilling to cower in fear. This wasn't like the last time she was pinned to this cell's walls. That time she had been shackled, restrained by metal and bone-shattering pain. This was just a man, and she wasn't about to let him force himself on her.

He merely snickered at her reluctance. He smiled smugly at her, his eyes watching her, as he let the dagger fall to the floor, the blade clattering off the stone. She eyed it as it lay only a few feet from where she stood. If she could just get away from this  _beast._

Now that he had both hands at his disposal, he didn't waste any time before grabbing her waist roughly, pulling her even closer. She heard a rumble in his throat, as he seemed to revel in how close they were. Even though he was undoubtedly handsome, his behaviour disgusted and terrified her. And despite his pretty face, he would never be as beautiful as Rum was.

He seemed to have heard her thoughts, and his fingers dug deeper into her side as he whispered in her ear. "Perhaps  _this_  isn't what you want. But, I think I know…"

His gaze didn't falter, and he didn't lift a finger as his body suddenly changed, morphing into what she now associated with being safe and home. His dark hair lightened and grew to touch his shoulders, he shrank so he was just a few inches taller than her, and a murky, liquid gold bloomed at his cheeks and spread across his face and down his neck, staining his porcelain skin. All that remained of the stranger were his black eyes.

Rumpelstiltskin now stood before her, embracing her and pinning her to the wall.

She knew it wasn't really him. He would never be so forward, so crude. Rum was careful. He would never be so intrusive, so vicious. And he would never force his desires on her. But this person even  _smelled_  like him. She had to remind herself that this wasn't her Rumpelstiltskin.

"Better, dearie?" the man mimicked. His voice soiled the illusion. His voice was too rough, too guttural, and lacking the lilt she had come to find endearing. Just another reminder that this was simply magic. Powerful magic, but still nothing more than pretend.

She should've noticed sooner. Maybe if she had been paying attention, she would've caught on earlier. But it wasn't until she looked into the eyes of the phony Rumpelstiltskin, that she managed to place them, that she remembered why they had seemed familiar.

It was the eyes of The Dark One; the eyes Rumpelstiltskin wore when losing control. It was the eyes that represented menacing evil, the eyes that desired her, and it was the eyes of danger.

She had to get out of here.  _Now._

She glanced at the dagger again, trying to figure out an escape route that allowed her to take it with her. She knew her chances of escaping were slim, being trapped between the wall and The Dark One's body, but it was worth a try.

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Something wrong, dearie?"

Taking her silence as a 'no', the fingers clinging to her waist started hiking up her skirt, exposing her thigh to his rough and careless touch. "Don't worry, you'll like this." He bit his lip as his nails scratched her milky thighs, trying to rid her of her under garments. She had been waiting for the right moment, but couldn't afford to stall any longer. She wasn't about to let this  _monster_  have his way with her. So while he was focused on exposing her, she shot up her knee, aiming for his sensitive parts.

She heard his sharp intake of air and his groans, before he released her and fell to his knees, cursing and clutching his groin. Even The Dark One had a weak spot.

She wasted no time as she dashed for the dagger, grabbing the child's cloak before fleeing the dungeon.

"No!" The Dark One roared behind her, his disguise melting away to reveal his true self.

She sprinted up the stairs, focusing on taking two steps at a time, too terrified to look behind her. She heard his footsteps at the bottom of the staircase, making panic bloom in her chest, fuelling her every step.

The shadows and darkness seemed to claw at her, grabbing her cloak, obstructing her escape. She heard her cloak tearing as she ripped it out of Darkness' grasp, and after what seemed like an eternity, she finally saw the soft light coming from the castle's hallway.

She bounded up the last steps and headed for the door. She threw it open and felt the chilly, fresh night air hit her face. But her relief was short-lived as she was jerked back by her cloak, it's metal clasp digging into her throat. She turned to see The Dark One clutching the tattered ends of her emerald garment. His black irises seemed to be bleeding, colouring the white of his eyes, and small veins had appeared underneath his eyes and along his cheekbones.

He snarled at her as he tugged her cloak, his guttural words incomprehensible.

She felt the metal clasp cut into her throat, pressing against her windpipe, making her gasp for air. The Dark One was getting ready to pull one last time, to pull her into his arms and never let go. So she quickly undid the clasp at her neck, leaving her cloak in the monster's hands, before practically throwing herself over the threshold, desperate to get away.

She fell on her hands and knees just outside the door, panting, with small droplets of blood dripping down her neck. She glanced over her shoulder and saw The Dark One standing in the doorway, her cloak in hand, glaring at her.

He made no move to attack her, no attempt to drag her back. It was as if he was bound to the castle, unable to step outside its walls.

He bared his teeth at her in a predatory snarl as his body began to ripple, becoming more and more unclear, before disappearing completely. All that remained of him was her cloak on the floor. She quickly got to her feet and bolted to the castle's gates, to the one person she knew would keep her safe.

Humbert opened the gates for her and caught her as she ran into his arms, clutching his fur shawl for support. He held her upright as her heartbeat slowed, and let her tears of panic and fear seep into his clothes. But he didn't let himself forget that they were pressed for time, and quickly hurried them both along, urging her to stand on her feet.

He led them a few feet away from the gates, before pulling out a small glass bottle filled with a murky green liquid from his pocket.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Our mode of transportation," he replied.

He then threw the bottle to the ground, the glass shattering, releasing the magic it contained. Suddenly green, dense smoke erupted from the broken bottle, enveloping their bodies, blinding and choking them both. He pulled her close to him, holding her tight, and his wolf stayed close to his feet. All she did was clutch the dagger to her chest.

The Dark Castle and the forest disappeared, and all she saw, smelled and felt was smoke. She felt herself evaporating, the smoke seeping into every pore of her body, letting her disappear and leave her surroundings behind. She no longer felt the Huntsman's body next to hers, and tried frantically searching for him, her evaporating hands making it difficult.

"Just relax," she heard him say.

And so she did.

She closed her eyes and let magic take her where she needed to be: the place offering salvation.

* * *

While he had been pacing his study, The Dark One had inexplicably left his body. He had given no warning, nor no explanation. He only felt him break through his skin and disappear, taking with him most of Rum's strength. He had fallen to the floor, too weak to stand. His hand hovered above his face, his blurred vision inspecting his skin. The sickening gold hue had disappeared, and Rum had tried to get to his feet, to find Belle. Just so she could see him as an ordinary man. But it had been useless.

He had tried to keep his eyes open, to wait for The Dark One to return, but sometime while waiting, he had fainted, faint images of Belle dancing appearing occasionally through the darkness.

Suddenly he felt The Dark One's presence seep into his soul, and his eyes opened, his body filled with The Dark One's anger.

" _We have a problem,"_ The Dark One snarled, forcing Rum to get to his feet.

"What?" Rum asked aloud, his immediate thoughts flickering to Belle.

" _She's gone, and she took it with her."_

Rum stilled for a moment, not willing to believe it. She couldn't possibly have found it. He had hidden in the one room of the castle where she would never find it. And now she had taken it. The dagger had left the castle. They were all in danger.

Rum quickly transported himself to the dungeons. Panic gripped him as he saw the stone ledge had been moved. He quickly rifled through the blankets in the hole, not willing to believe The Dark One's words.

It really was gone. The dagger and Bae's cloak was missing.

He didn't linger in the dungeons. His body appeared in the castle's doorway, in front of Belle's tattered cloak. The sight of the cloak made The Dark One stir, and images flashed in Rum's mind. Images of The Dark One and Belle… in the dungeon… Her cloak smelled of blood and Darkness, and Rum felt his blood boil with rage.

"What did you  _do_ "? He asked through gritted teeth.

" _Never mind, you coward! You mustn't let her leave!"_ The Dark One forced him to look up and see the open castle gates.

"You'll regret this," Rum promised, before transporting himself outside.

He was too late.

All that remained of Belle was wisps of green smoke and shards of glass.

She must have had help from someone. There was no way Belle could concoct a transporting potion by herself. What the hell was that girl doing?

The Dark One answered his thoughts. " _She's trying to save you."_

Save him? Surely, she didn't still have her heart set on breaking the curse?

Who was he kidding? Of course she did. Belle was strong and brave. She wouldn't give up that easily. She didn't back down when she first had her heart set on something, and she cared too much to not try to help those she cared about.

But he had to find her, and he  _had_ to get the dagger back. He wouldn't be safe until it was in his possession. However, he had no clue where she had gone, nor the faintest idea as to who planted the notion of stealing his dagger in her head.

The Dark One snickered.

Rum stopped his pondering. "You know where she went, don't you?"

" _Come on, Rumpelstiltskin. Even_ you _aren't that ignorant. If you dig deep, you'll find you too know where she is. And who she's with."_


	11. Nothing But A Trap

When Belle opened her eyes, she saw they were standing in a hallway, which branched out into several dome-shaped corridors. From where they were standing, she could see the corridors led to wooden double doors, all framed by candelabras.

She slowly uncurled her fingers from Humbert's fur shawl, and he let his arm fall from her shoulders.

"Where's your wolf?" she asked, suddenly noticing the animal's absence.

"He's not allowed inside the castle walls," he answered mournfully.

He led them down one of the corridors in silence, his jaw set and his eyes fixed straight ahead. Their shadows stretched across the walls around them, and Belle instinctively moved a little closer to the Huntsman. She had experienced first-hand what lurked among shadows.

They stopped in front of the door and Humbert raised his hand, tapping the wood a few times with his knuckles, announcing their presence.

There was no response, but he still opened the doors and ushered her in.

He had led them to what seemed to be a grand lounge, with silver tapestried walls and a domed ceiling. A woman in an exquisite black gown stood with her back to them in front of a full-length mirror, her fingers tracing the intricate pattern of the frame. But the mirror didn't depict her reflection. It seemed to portray a completely different room, somewhere dark and deserted, with heavy curtains and antique furniture - a window to the world outside these walls.

The image rippled and vanished as the woman noticed they had entered, and she turned to greet her guests.

Belle's eyes widened in recognition as she was met by familiar dark eyes and red lips, which were drawn into a kind smile. "Welcome, my dear."

"You?  _You're_  the Queen?" Belle asked incredulously.

The woman's smile widened to display her pearly whites. "Please, call me Regina." She moved forward to take Belle's arm, gently guiding her towards the fireplace. The Huntsman remained where he was, his gaze shifting between his Queen and her unfortunate victim.

Regina gestured for Belle to take a seat.

"So-so why did you want me here?" Belle asked, her voice shaking ever so slightly. This woman hadn't made her feel comfortable the first time she'd met her, and the same uneasiness began to bloom in her stomach.

"I heard about your unfortunate  _situation_ , and I want to help," she replied smoothly, taking a seat opposite Belle, arranging the fabric of her dress to rest elegantly at her feet.

"My situation?" Belle questioned, her brows furrowing in false confusion. She didn't know how much this woman knew, and she wasn't about to give away something she shouldn't.

"Yes, with the imp. You want to save him, but can't seem to find a way-"

"But there is a way," Belle countered. "True Love's Kiss." Belle remembered what this woman had told her, about the powers of True Love. It was this woman that had given her hope in the first place.

The Queen sighed, her voice taking on a tone of pity. "But you never got that far, did you? He rejected you. He wanted his magic, his  _power,_  more than he wanted you."

"That's not true," Belle countered, her confidence wavering ever so slightly. She remembered how he, not The Dark One, but  _Rumpelstiltskin_ had stopped her, how he had hesitated and pulled away before their lips could touch. She knew he loved her, but she also knew how much he loved magic, and this was enough to ignite the small spark of doubt within her.

"You don't sound so sure," Regina remarked.

To this Belle didn't say anything. She merely fiddled with the bundle containing the dagger in her lap, her eyes cast downward. Was she suddenly doubting him? She knew how he felt, and she knew how she felt. What else was there to question or hesitate about? Perhaps the thought that maybe their mutual affection wasn't enough.

Maybe True Love couldn't fix things by itself. Maybe it needed help, a push in the right direction, something to give it the strength to mend and save. And that was what this woman was offering - the push that was needed to save her beloved.

Even though she made Belle feel uneasy, she obviously knew what she was talking about. She seemed to know about magic and its consequences. She seemed to know what it took. So Belle swallowed whatever inkling of trepidation or doubt she had, and straightened her posture before asking, "What do you propose?"

Regina smiled mischievously, leaning in as she spoke. "I'm glad you asked."

She stood and began walking around the room, her fingers trailing across objects and furniture she passed. "Since True Love won't be able to save him, the only solution is to destroy what's keeping him bound. Releasing his ties to the curse, releases his soul."

Belle contemplated her words for a moment, before addressing the first problem. "But it's The Dark One that keeps him bound. How do you plan to destroy him without hurting Rum?"

The Queen raised an eyebrow at the nickname. "Rum?"

Belle averted her gaze, a faint blush colouring her cheeks.

"My dear, it isn't The Dark One that keeps him bound. There is something else, an object that keep them  _both_ trapped." Her eyes flickered to the bundle in Belle's lap.

The dagger? Was that all it took? Destroy the dagger and the curse would be broken? It seemed so obvious, almost too good to be true. Why hadn't she thought of it?

"But how would you go about destroying the dagger? It's a magical object, isn't it? Wouldn't it take something powerful?"

She heard Humbert stir in the corner of the room, where he had remained since they'd entered.

"Don't you ask a lot of questions?" The Queen remarked, her voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. Belle shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"I have saved enough magic to be able to destroy it, permanently. Do that and the curse is broken. Your imp will be the ordinary man he once was."

Belle couldn't help but tighten her grasp on the dagger ever so slightly, as if she was suddenly protecting it.

"Why didn't you tell me about this option when we met?"

The Queen laughed, the melodic sound echoing throughout the room. "I doubt you would've been able to handle the powerful magic necessary. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

That made sense. Belle didn't know the first thing about magic. She didn't know how it worked or its consequences. She only knew it was capable of great things, good or bad. Regina was right in not telling her. It was better if someone experienced did it, someone who knew what they were doing; someone like Regina.

"And you're sure you'll be able to destroy it?" Belle asked, wanting to be absolutely sure. She knew how dangerous it would be if the dagger fell into the wrong hands. Or rather, was  _given_  into the wrong hands by an ignorant girl trying to do the right thing.

"I hope you aren't doubting me, Belle," she said, her smile disappearing, her voice turning cold.

Belle shook her head. "No, of course not."

It wasn't that Belle didn't trust her. She just didn't trust magic. She didn't want to get her hopes up that this would actually work, and then be left with nothing but ruined expectations and grief that her beloved was lost forever.

But nothing was ever achieved by worrying about the consequences. Salvation would forever be out of reach if she continued to live in this "should I, should I not" state she found herself in. None of the heroes in her books saved the day without taking a leap of faith.

Regina made her way to stand in front of Belle. "I just need the dagger, Belle. And then the man you love will be free." She held out her hand to her, her dark eyes occasionally glancing down at the bundle Belle was guarding.

Belle carefully opened the makeshift parcel and revealed the weapon bearing her love's name, its blood-stained blade still making her shiver. Belle carefully lifted the dagger and offered it to the Queen, hilt first. The Queen grinned as she slowly reached out to clasp her fingers around the hilt.

She held the dagger up to inspect it, laughter bubbling from her blood-red lips.

Belle's brows furrowed as the woman's laugh turned into cackling, the sound making goose bumps appear across her flesh.

"Finally - The Dark One at my disposal."

Her disposal?

The realization of what a terrible mistake she had made came crashing down on her, terror sweeping through her. The Queen smiled down at her, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Thank you, dear. You've been most helpful," Regina said joyously, before Belle suddenly felt herself being flung backwards. She hit the wall before crumpling to the floor, her head and back throbbing. She remained still for a few moments, trying to make the floor beneath her stop spinning. She lifted her gaze to see that she was trapped in a cage. Its walls seemed to be made of a purple mist that was somehow set like glass. Regina watched as the panic practically suffocated her. She banged her fists on the magical walls, but it was no use. Regina merely laughed at her efforts.

"Huntsman," Regina ordered. Her voice was slightly muffled through the glass, but Belle could still hear her. Humbert quickly made his way to the Queen's side, like a slave would scurry to its master.

He'd known all along. He'd led her here, knowing what would happen. She had been foolish enough to trust him, to rely on the fact that wherever he was, she would be safe. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so naïve, so foolish? She had learned long ago never to judge a book by its cover, why should people be any different?

He was no longer the strong, proud man she had met in the marketplace. In Regina's presence, he slumped his shoulders and never looked her in the eye. He was submissive, powerless.

Tears welled in her eyes and eventually spilled down her cheeks. They were tears of grief, fear and pity.

"Yes, my Queen?" he said meekly.

Regina grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. Her touch wasn't loving or gentle. It was rough and cold.

"You've done well. Wait for me in my bedchambers," she commanded before pressing her lips to his. He stood still as she tugged his lower lip with her teeth, before releasing him, sending him out of the room. His lips were stained with her lipstick, and he cast a quick glance in Belle's direction before closing the door behind him.

Regina held the dagger delicately in her hands, revelling in the power it promised to provide.

Belle hugged her knees to her chest, as if trying to shield her body from this hopeless situation. She then noticed that the children's cloak was still in her lap. She fingered the material, noticing how it seemed to somehow smell of The Dark Castle - her home.

"Please don't hurt him," she whispered to herself.

Regina seemed to have heard her and she walked up to the magical cage, snickering.

"Oh, it's not him you should be worried about."

* * *

The sounds of his determined strides echoed throughout the dark, empty halls. They hadn't been empty when he'd arrived, but he'd easily taken care of the guards. The Dark One's agitation had made him ruthless, and he hadn't even flinched as he'd turned them all to snails, before crushing them beneath his leather soles.

Rum was even more anxious than The Dark One, though not for the same reasons. Rum wanted Belle back, The Dark One wanted nothing but the dagger. Despite Rum's frequent attempts to pick up the pace, The Dark One ran for no one, and had settled on a confident saunter.

He came to an intersection, the hallway branching out into several corridors. Rum hesitated, contemplating which route to take. The Dark One quickly steered him down a corridor to the right.

Rum saw a door in the distance, and could make out a figure standing in front of it, leaning against the wood. Rum readied himself, ready to turn this last hindrance into dust, when The Dark One stopped him.

" _We want him alive,"_ The Dark One instructed, forcing Rum to subdue the magic he had been ready to inflict on the man.

The man sensed someone behind him and glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening as he recognized the leather-clad imp coming towards him. Rum didn't give him any time to speak; he simply grabbed his shawl and yanked him back, before pinning him to the wall, his forearm pressing into his throat.

The man struggled for air, clawing at Rum's arm. Despite The Dark One not wanting the man killed, he didn't object to a little suffering, and supplied Rum with enough strength to keep the man from escaping.

The Dark One revelled in the man's pain, and managed to catch a glimpse of his memories, his sufferings.

" _He's her servant, her toy."_

He then proceeded to show Rum the man's memories, his nightmares of Regina convulsing on top of him. He showed Rum his terror, his shame, and his loneliness. And Rum understood those feelings, more than he would like to admit. So he slackened his hold ever so slightly, letting the man breathe again.

"Where is she?" Rum snarled, his upper lip drawn back to reveal his stained teeth, their faces just inches apart.

The man took a few deep breaths before answering, "She's in there," he said, jerking his head towards the closed door.

"With  _her?"_ Rum asked, dreading the answer.

The man merely nodded.

Rum quickly pulled away, stepping back as the man sighed in relief, sliding down to sit on the ground.

"I wish I hadn't done it…" the man mumbled, his voice catching as it trailed off. He covered his face with his hands; the quiet hitches of his breath and the gentle shaking of his shoulders the only signs that he was crying. But neither Rum nor The Dark One comforted this imbecile.

"Yes, you and me both, dearie," Rum said coldly, getting ready to stride over to the door, before the man stopped him, grabbing his arm as he walked past.

"You can't go in there. It's  _you_ she's after. She'll kill you both," he warned.

Rum snatched his arm from the man's grasp. "I can't leave Belle. I won't be a coward. Not that I expect you to understand," he added coldly, watching as shame clouded the man's blue eyes.

Rum positioned himself in front of the door and took the Dark magic The Dark One offered him, shaping it into something destructive. He then pushed his hands away from him, palms facing out, and relished in the sound of wood splintering into a million pieces.

But in the moment the dust cleared, in the moment he saw what had been hidden from sight, a small piece of his soul withered and died.

There was his Belle, trapped in a Laqueum cage; a cage consisting purely of twisted magic, magic fuelled by evil intentions and cruelty. Her wide eyes seemed purple through the cage's walls, and he saw a flicker of hope pass through them. He saw her mouth his name, her palms pressed up against the purple barrier.

The Queen, on the other hand, whipped her head up to see the intruder, and he savoured the look of surprise and panic that flittered across her face, before her usual confident smile returned.

"You could've knocked," she commented dryly.

He didn't bother with a retort. The Dark One was giving him more magic, enough to send Regina crashing into her fireplace, and maybe even wipe off her disgusting lipstick.

He planted his feet firmly on the ground, getting ready to send all the energy and anger he had crashing through this  _witch._

But Regina noticed he was getting ready to attack, and raised a hand to stop him.

"Not so fast, Rumpel," she chided.

She showed him the dagger, dangling it in front of him, grinning as she saw his obvious terror.

She had the dagger. She controlled him.

"Dark One," she addressed, and Rum felt The Dark One flare to life, acknowledging his new Master. Rum was no longer in charge.

"I control you now. I  _own_ you," she sneered, watching as Rum's eyes grew darker, the veins under his eyes and across his cheekbones becoming more visible.

Rum felt himself smile cruelly, and The Dark One's guttural voice rang throughout the domed room.

"Yes, Master." He even bowed, and Rum hated him for it.

The Dark One cast a glance at Belle, and Rum saw through their shared eyes how terrified she was, how all traces of hope that had been there only a moment ago had vanished. She had seen this transformation often enough to know what it implied. She had witnessed its cruelties just earlier that night.

The Dark One wasn't comfortable with Belle being trapped by anyone other than himself, but he could do nothing without his Master's say so. Unless Regina released her herself, Belle wasn't going anywhere.

"It was brave of you to come here, Rumpel," Regina remarked, knowing Rum could hear her. "So unlike you."

Rum snarled but no sound passed The Dark One's lips. The Dark One didn't voice any opinions but his own.

Not waiting for a reply, Regina continued to provoke him. "Was it because of her?" she asked, gesturing to Belle, whose panicked gaze was flickering back and forth between him and Regina. "Did she give you the strength to do the decent thing – to try to rescue her?"

She leaned in, her face hovering inches from his. "Was it worth it?" she whispered, before a horrid scream pierced the air.

The Dark One snapped his gaze to Belle, letting Rum see how her palms were pressed to her temples, and her eyes were squeezed shut. She whimpered, before shouting for whatever was hurting her to stop. She cried out for someone, and he could almost fool himself into believing she was calling for him.

The Dark One growled at Belle's pain, while Rum was reduced to tears, aching to comfort her.

"Stop it, " The Dark One hissed.

Regina furrowed her brows in confusion. "Don't tell me  _The Dark One_ actually cares for this peasant girl?" she said incredulously.

Rum knew The Dark One didn't love Belle the way he did. He just wanted Belle alive for the sake of having her, claiming her.

The Dark One remained silent, not bothering to correct her.

"Well then," she chuckled, wandering about the room before stopping next to Belle's cage. "I present to you your first task, Dark One,  _slave,_ " she added cruelly.

She snapped her fingers and the cage vanished in a vapour of smoke, all traces of its existence quickly leaving the room.

"Kill her," she ordered, her crooked smile once again plastered on her face.

 _No,_ Rum thought.  _Please don't do it,_ he begged The Dark One, hoping that together they could withstand Regina's hold over them both.

But now neither him nor The Dark One was in charge. Regina called the shots. They were at her disposal, and there was no point in fighting of trying to withstand her commands; she held the dagger.

The Dark One hated Regina for her wishes, but still made his way towards Belle, who still sat on the floor, staring wide-eyed up at him as he approached.

At this point Rum was screaming, howling for The Dark One to spare her, trying to regain control, even though he knew it was impossible.

He saw tears fill his lover's eyes as she scrambled to her feet, trying to get away from him.

Regina enjoyed Belle's terror, and sat down to watch her cruel command being obeyed. "It's never easy; killing what you love the most," she mused aloud.


	12. A Bloodstained Dagger

"Don't do this, Rum," she whispered, pleading her love to spare her life. "You're stronger than her."

But he wasn't. His Belle had too much faith in him. He couldn't stop himself, The Dark One, from obeying. No matter how horrid, how painful Regina's orders were, her wish was his command.

And oh, how he wished he could save her. This was his fault. He should have let her kiss him. He shouldn't have hesitated. And he shouldn't have waited so long to say the words aloud; that he loved her, with all his heart.

But because he had waited, allowing himself to think there would be plenty of time, they now found themselves in this hopeless situation – him under someone else's control, and Belle about to die.

She shouldn't have to die for choosing to love him. He would rather have been ordered to kill himself, to end his own life with his own two hands. Anything was better than having to watch Belle's eyes slowly dim to nothing but empty shells of the beautiful creature she used to be.

Rum's tears spilled from The Dark One's eyes, wetting his cheeks and blurring his vision. The Dark One snarled as he quickly wiped them away. The Dark One cried for no one.

"Oh, before I forget…" Regina trailed off, reaching for the bowl of apples that stood on a table next to the sofa. She carefully chose one, holding it up to inspect it, before the apple suddenly morphed into a dagger.  _His_ dagger.

It was identical to the real one, his name carved in the same gothic script on the blade. The blade even had dark red stains on it, dried blood from what now seemed like another lifetime, when he'd still had a chance.

"Use this," she ordered, smiling as she tossed him the faux weapon, enjoying the irony. She couldn't give him the real dagger. That would only have resulted in his gaining control, and her demise.

The Dark One twirled the dagger in his hand before looking at Belle, wondering where to place the wound that would end her life.

Belle watched in horror as he moved closer, the dagger pointed towards her. Their faces were only inches apart, their chests almost touching. The Dark One took a deep breath, while Belle whimpered, still thinking it wasn't too late.

"Please," she begged, her voice unsteady, muffled by sadness.

"I'm sorry," Rum whispered, and he was surprised to hear The Dark One voicing his words, his final apology to this beautiful woman who was eventually killed by Darkness.

The Dark One then plunged the dagger into Belle's stomach. Rum's heart shattered at the sound of her painful cry, her sharp intakes of breath as she clutched her wound, her blood staining her fingers and dress.

She sank to her knees, desperately trying to stop the blood from escaping her body. She looked up at him in shock. She looked so betrayed. She had forgotten how powerful magic was, and how it made people do terrible things.

He could see her lose consciousness, how her eyes glazed over as she braced one of her hands against the floor, trying to stop the room from spinning, trying to fend off the encroaching darkness that was about to drown her.

He wanted to hold her in his arms, just one last time, to feel her warm skin against his before life left her for good. But The Dark One comforted no one. So instead he was forced to stand there passively, the dagger still in his hand, watching as she finally slumped over, her head knocking against the floor, the dark stain spreading down the skirt of her dress.

She then suddenly disappeared. The droplets of blood on the floor the only evidence she had ever been there.

"Where is she?" Rum snarled, The Dark One finally letting him do the talking.

"I put her away," The Queen replied nonchalantly. "I figured she would be a little  _distracting_."

Rum noticed the dagger was still in his hand, its blade coated in his lover's blood, and he quickly flung it away, disgusted.

He suddenly panicked, not knowing where Belle was. She might still be alive, and he wasn't with her. She could be lying on the forest floor, spending her last moments out in the cold. Or she could have been placed back in her dungeon, where she had suffered and grieved. He wanted to be with her, to wrap his arms around her and apologize, over and over again.

The Queen noticed his distress. "Forget about her, Rumpel. She's dead."

The words made him flinch.

The Queen laughed, thrilled her plan had succeeded. "To be honest, killing her wasn't really necessary," she continued, ignoring how much she was making him suffer. "I just wanted to make sure you knew who was in charge."

He tried desperately to stop his tears, to not fall at her feet, begging for a way to save Belle. He forced himself to remain silent.

"Oh, the things I have planned for us," The Queen said. Her voice seemed to promise that more innocent blood would be spilt, and that it would be his doing.

"In fact, I've already found our first target," she said.

She didn't continue, forcing Rum to ask, "Who?" He hoped it was someone who deserved what was coming to them, someone whose death wouldn't haunt him for years to come.

"That wretched little brat, Snow White." The Queen's smile vanished as she spoke her name.

So that's whom Regina wanted gone, her innocent stepdaughter, The Fairest of Them All. Rum knew how Regina had married Snow's father against her own wishes, and how she blamed a child for the death of her True Love. He knew a lot about his enemies. It kept him safe.

"So this was why you did all this? To kill a  _child_?" Rum asked in disbelief.

Regina whirled to face him, her heels clicking against the floor as she stalked towards him, outraged. "It was her foolish mistake that cost Daniel his life! She's the reason he's gone!"

He didn't step away as she leaned in. "She deserves what's coming to her," The Queen said menacingly.

She turned her back on him and picked up another apple, throwing it back and forth between her hands before flinging it at the wall in anger, leaving bits of the pulp clinging to the wall, the juice of the fruit trailing down the silver tapestry.

Because she was his Master, he saw the vivid scenarios playing through her mind. She was envisioning how he would murder Snow; how he would rip her heart out with his claws, how he would break her neck with the flick of his wrist, how he would cut off her limbs one by one, until she begged for him to end her life. The Queen's sadistic cruelty made him shiver.

Rum suddenly heard a faint creaking behind him, followed by the sound of a door closing. Hoping that Belle would miraculously reappear in the doorway, he whirled around, only to see the coward from the hall.

He stood with his legs slightly apart, his back straight and his head held high. He seemed to have found some courage in one of the dusty corners of the hallway.

Rum then spotted the bow and arrow he was holding, its string pulled, an arrow positioned and ready to skewer any obstacle in its way. And he then saw that the arrow was pointed straight at Regina's back.

The Dark One snarled at his Master's threat, and at this Regina turned, her eyes widening as she saw her servant pointing a weapon at her, aiming right for her heart.

"Humbert, what do you think you are doing?" she said, her voice stripped of all its previous confidence and eagerness.

His gaze locked on hers, innocent blue eyes meeting dark orbs. "Taking back what's mine," he said.

The Dark One growled before flinging himself at this man who threatened to harm his Master, as much as his protecting this wretched woman disgusted him.

But he was too late.

The Huntsman released his hold on the string, sending the arrow flying, its course determined and set. The Dark One tackled the man and pinned him to the floor, getting ready to break his neck.

And Regina, who was too surprised and bewildered to move, felt the arrow tear through the fabric of her gown, and then her skin, before piercing her heart and settling halfway through her torso.

She looked down in horror at the object protruding from her bosom, before she collapsed to the floor, a trail of blood leaking from her painted lips.

And as soon as she had taken her last breath, when she had turned into nothing but a corpse, Rum felt her hold on him slacken and then disappear entirely. His Master was dead. He was free.

The Dark One dimmed into nothing but a voice in his head, and Rum was finally in control of his own body. His eyes lightened and the dark veins across his cheekbones faded. He quickly clambered off the man struggling beneath him, straightening his waistcoat self-consciously.

The Huntsman got to his feet and put his weapon away.

"Thanks for that, dearie," Rum said, unsure of how to express how thankful he actually was.

"It was the least I could do," the man replied.

Rum then remembered the dagger, and quickly rushed over to the Queen's body, prying it from her still fingers. He felt a shock run up his arm as he held it, a sign that he was once again his own Master.

"Why did you do it?" Rum asked, wondering how he had thought this man a coward.

"You weren't the only one under her control," he said. He had a pained expression on his face, and then Rum remembered the images The Dark One had shown him of Regina taking advantage of this poor man. And he felt sorry for him. And he admired his courage to fight back and actually win, which was more than he had accomplished.

"Quick, we don't have much time," he said, pulling Rum with him out of the room.

Of course. Belle. She might still be alive, somewhere.

"You know where she is," Rum said, amazed at how this man had known what was happening all along. He had known the Queen's plans, and he had played along. Hell, deep down, he had to admit he was slightly impressed. Except the part when he had let his precious Belle get hurt.

The Huntsman nodded as he continued to lead them through the maze of corridors. "I'll take you to her."

* * *

The Huntsman had led them down a winding staircase, bringing them deeper and deeper into the castle's foundation, further and further away from the soon approaching daylight Belle loved so much.

They now found themselves in a tunnel carved out of stone and dirt. A scent of decay poisoned the air, and the damp clung to their skin. Surely, Belle couldn't be here. She couldn't have been forced to spend her last moments in this wretched, suffocating prison.

A single torch was fastened to the wall, which the Huntsman took with him, urging Rum to follow the tunnel.

Soon enough, the light from the torch hit a series of bars penetrating the ceiling and floor, lined one after another to create the perfect cage. And behind these bars, lying on the floor amidst the dirt and soil was his Belle.

He rushed forward to the bars, trying to break them apart with his hands. Realizing it was no use, he stepped back and gathered enough magic to alter their consistency, vaporize them to nothing. He didn't dare attempt to blow them to pieces, for fear of harming Belle.

The bars suddenly caught fire, the flames devouring the wood, leaving nothing but the smell of smoke.

He rushed to Belle's side, kneeling beside her, running his fingers through her damp hair. The Huntsman sat by his side, his torch illuminating Belle's pale face. Her breathing was shallow, and her wound hadn't stopped bleeding, a puddle of blood forming beneath her.

He pressed two of his fingers to her neck, searching for any signs of life. Her pulse was weak, but still there. She was still alive.

His heart ached at the sight of his beautiful, strong, brave Belle, now nothing but a lifeless form, trying desperately to stay alive.

He'd done this to her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, hoping she could somehow hear him. He lifted her head to rest in his lap, his fingers stroking her cheeks, her eyelids, her lips.

"I have to get her out of here," he said, looking up at the Huntsman who had tears in his eyes.

The Huntsman nodded before producing a small glass bottle from his pocket. It contained a green liquid, which shimmered slightly in the torchlight - a vanishing potion.

"Use this," he said, thrusting the bottle into Rum's hand. "And save her. Please."

Rum nodded. "I owe you a favour, dearie."

The Huntsman then rose to his feet and turned to exit the dungeon.

"Where are you going?" Rum asked.

Rum saw the man's shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath. "To collect what's mine," he said.

And so Rum was left in the now dark dungeon, his love cradled in his arms, his ticket home clutched in his hand.

"We'll be home soon, my love," he whispered, before throwing the bottle to the ground, and letting the green smoke engulf them both.

* * *

The Huntsman made his way from the dungeon, heading for the room where the only thing that tied him to this castle was located. The look in the imp's eyes as he had been released from Regina's hold, the look on his face when he had held the woman he loved in his arms, would stay with the Huntsman for the rest of eternity. And he hoped that he would one day find someone who meant that much to him.

He sprinted the last few metres, anxious to once again feel whole, to feel a steady-paced thump in his chest, confirming that he was alive. He crashed through the wooden double doors and into the small circular room, lined with several boxes built into the wall.

He hadn't set foot here since the day he had lost his freedom. And he remembered the horrible pain that had torn through his chest when Regina had taken his free will, stuffing it in a box and using it as leverage, just to keep him by her side.

He didn't regret sparing Snow White's life, but he wished he had killed his Queen a long, long time ago.

He didn't have to search through the boxes to find the one he was looking for. He remembered vividly which drawer contained his life. And even if he hadn't remembered, the pull he felt towards the drawer, the faint thumping he heard in his ears, would have been proof enough.

He reached out to touch the drawer and the thumping in his ears grew louder, and he even felt a slight aching in his chest.

He slowly opened the drawer, and a single tear of relief fell from his eyes, landing on the glowing organ that lay pulsating, waiting for him. He picked it up in his hand, relishing in the feeling of finally being in control, of finally being able to leave this wretched castle and forget the nightmares that had taken place here.

He didn't dare restore it to its natural place by himself. He wouldn't know how to begin. He would find someone who could help him. Perhaps he could even call upon the favour the imp said he owed him.

He tucked his heart inside his shirt, right where it would soon be once more.

And with a shaky laugh of triumph, he quickly left the room and never looked back; the open drawer the only sign that something was missing.


	13. What Could've Been & What Remains

He transported them to where they both felt safe, where they most wanted to be while in each other's arms - in front of the fireplace.

The dining room was dark and cold; the last traces of magic that he had manipulated in celebration of them had disappeared long ago.

Dancing with her in his arms seemed now like another lifetime. She had been so warm, so soothing, so beautiful. And now she was cold, pale and injured. And it was because of him and his wretched curse.

He laid her down on a makeshift bed made of pillows and blankets. The fire flared to life with a flourish of his fingers. The firelight danced across her dirt-streaked skin as he brushed back tendrils of her hair from her face.

He checked on her wound, and his stomach churned with panic as he saw that she was still losing blood. The stain on her dress kept spreading, and her pulse was becoming weaker and weaker.

She was dying.

He laid a hand over her wound, trying to apply pressure. His gold skin was soon covered in red.

He had to heal her.

He hovered his blood-stained hand over her wound and felt subtle magic flow from his hand and into her body, searching for ways to undo his evil.

But it didn't work. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much magic he supplied, the colour didn't return to her face, and her eyes didn't open.

Why wasn't it working?

" _You didn't honestly think the Queen handed you an ordinary dagger?"_ The Dark One said, none of the usual smugness present in his voice.

The flow of magic suddenly halted, as Rum registered his words.

"What?"

" _You can't undo this, Rumpelstiltskin. That dagger was crafted from magic fuelled by malice and hatred. Ordinary magic won't save her."_

Rum slowly withdrew his hand, his voice weak as he spoke. "So that's it? I just let her die?"

The Dark One said nothing. The Dark One comforted no one.

"She can't die," he whispered, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak.

He repositioned her so that her head was resting in his lap. He had to be close to her. He couldn't let her go, not now.

He held her hand gently in his, their fingers entwining as he lowered his head to rest against her forehead. His warm breath touched her cold skin as he spoke to her, hoping she could hear him.

"Don't leave me… don't leave me… I need you, Belle… I need you…"

Past memories and dreams drifted behind his closed eyes. How she had walked with her head held high as he had taken her from her home, the smile on her face when he had given her the garden, how he had held her close when she had returned to him, how beautiful she had looked in her golden dress, how she had tried to kiss him, how she had tried to save him…

And he now knew exactly why he needed her. Because she was all he had. He was never alone or unhappy with her. She made living easier and worthwhile. She made him a better man. She made him whole.

And that's why she couldn't leave him. She just  _couldn't_!

"Please Belle…" he whispered, drawing her hand up to gently kiss her knuckles.

"I love you…"

And as if his declaration meant nothing to her, as if it wasn't reason enough to keep fighting, her lips parted ever so slightly to release one last sigh of life, before stilling completely, her heart giving in to the strain of living, her soul choosing to leave him.

He dropped her hand and began frantically searching her throat for the weak throb of her still-beating heart.

Nothing.

The Dark One said nothing. He too had lost something he cared about, however grotesque his feelings towards her were.

Tears welled in his eyes and quickly spilled over, dripping onto her cheeks and lips. He cradled her head between his hands, his head lowered in defeat. Sobs racked through his body as he held his dead love in his arms.

"Come back to me, Belle. I'm nothing without you."

Nothing.

His lips continued to move in silent pleas, begging her to return to him. But she didn't hear him. So she didn't come back.

Dawn appeared beyond the horizon, the sun's rays pouring in through the windows, promising another day - a day without the woman he loved by his side.

He sobbed over the empty shell of his lover, regret poisoning him from the inside. He realized with sorrow that he never got to feel her rosy lips against his, her breath on his tongue. He could only imagine what it would've been like, how it would've made his heart soar.

And in an attempt to recreate what might have been, how liberated he would have felt had he just been brave enough to try, he angled her head and placed a soft, mournful kiss on her lips.

And when The Dark One finally realized what was happening, it was too late to stop it. It was too late to undo it. For this was no ordinary magic.

As Rum felt her cold, still lips against his, he heard a terrified scream rip through his mind. The Dark One was dying.

Rum felt the hidden essence of light that had been buried deep within his soul swallow The Dark One whole, drowning his screams of agony. And as he disappeared, Rum felt an overwhelming calm fall over him, soothing the wounds that had been inflicted throughout the years of being in Darkness' service.

And suddenly he felt Belle's lips move beneath his, caressing his lovingly.

He pulled back abruptly to see azure blue eyes gazing up at him.

"Belle?" he said incredulously.

The colour had returned to her skin, her eyes were bright and alert, and she was smiling.

"You did it," she said, smiling brilliantly up at him. "You broke the curse."

And as her words registered, he held up one of his hands and gasped to see his usual sickly green hue had disappeared. He was an ordinary man again. And for once it didn't feel like a sentence, but a relief.

"How?" he asked, still not fully comprehending what had just happened.

"True Love's Kiss can break any curse," she said, running her fingers through his now softer hair.

True Love – the most powerful magic of all. And it was the definition of  _un_ ordinary magic. True Love broke curses. And maybe it even broke Belle's curse of an untimely death.

"Oh, Belle…" he whispered before his lips came crashing down on hers, feverishly making up for lost time and missed opportunities. He relished in the feeling of her urgent lips, the taste of her tongue, the nipping of her teeth.

Their hands wound in each other's hair, wishing to be even closer, and never wanting to let go.

"I love you," she said softly against his lips.

"I love you more," he countered, ending the kiss only to envelope her in his arms, and swearing to himself, the Gods and whoever would listen that he would never let her go.

* * *

A few months had passed since the curse had been broken, and they had both become accustomed to Rum's change.

Belle could see it in every movement and hear it in every word he spoke, that he was happier. He held her as often as he could, and touched her even more. He would creep up behind her and shower her neck with kisses, his human hands encircling her waist, pulling her close.

But it had been hard. Her heart still ached at the remembrance of when Rum had found out that his magic had disappeared for good.

He had been hoping that maybe the curse would've left him with some form of magic still coursing through his fingertips. And she'd held him as he had quietly cried at the realization that he had lost the only way he'd had at finding his son.

They still lived in The Dark Castle, but it no longer housed powerful magic. Rum's books and potions were still upstairs in his study, but he never ventured up there, knowing he couldn't put any of it to good use.

Magic had been such a big part of him, and it broke her heart to see him mourn the loss of what he thought made him who he was. All she could do was whisper words of comfort in his ear, telling him how beautiful he was to her, even without magic.

And because of this her garden had disappeared, and he could no longer spin straw into gold.

But she had reminded him that there were other ways at recovering that which one had lost. There were people who still harnessed magic that he could ask for help.

Not that it had all been bad.

They had made love almost every night, and sometimes in the light of day, her body bent over the dining room table or pressed up against a wall. They were making up for lost time, and she cherished every time he would moan her name in pleasure, voicing his love and lust for her over and over and  _over_ again.

She loved the feel of his soft skin beneath her fingertips, or his rough stubble that grazed against her cheek as he hugged her. He may think himself less now that he was no longer powerful, but she had never loved him more.

The gold band around her ring finger was a symbol of this love.

It had been a small wedding, and she had invited her father, who hadn't recognized the man her daughter had promised eternity to. And she hadn't told him. They had fabricated a story about him finding her in the woods after a successful escape from the beast that was Rumpelstiltskin. It was better that way.

And now he held her in his arms, one hand entwined in his while the other rested on the small of her back, as he swayed them back and forth in time with the song he was humming. She rested her head on his chest, and he had his chin on top of her head, just like they had danced all those months ago. She felt him kiss the top of her head affectionately. She closed her eyes and imagined they were in their ballroom, and if she concentrated enough, she could even feel the silk of her gold dress against her skin, swirling around her legs.


End file.
